Silver Bells and Winter Snow
by Ennui Enigma
Summary: December dreams of wintry mystery. Collection of shorts in response to Hades Lord of the Dead's December Awesomeness. December 31. Prompt from embracetheweird: gifts for the irregulars.
1. Ch 1 - Rum Pum Pum Pum

**A/N: Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD. **

**Prompt: 10 Words. ****Write a piece using the words, 'defiant', rush, fear, weapon, woe, evanescence, cryptic, spontaneous, tragedy, and choke'.**

**From: Lemon Zinger**

**Date: December 1**

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_Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary licence utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme._

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**WATSON'S REVOLVER PLOY**

Come they told me

Pa rum pum pum pum

Weapon of woe I see

Pa rum pum pum pum

A rush of fear it brings

Pa rum pum pum pum

Yet ne'er a whistle rings

Pa rum pum pum pum

Rum pum pum pum

Rum pum pum pum

It is a tragic end

Pa rum pum pum pum

Of my chum

~O~

Single cryptogram

Pa rum pum pum pum

I am alone again

Pa rum pum pum pum

Spontaneous I spring

Pa rum pum pum pum

An evanescent ping

Pa rum pum pum pum,

Rum pum pum pum,

Rum pum pum pum

My pen falls down again

Pa rum pum pum pum

Here I come

~O~

Holmes he nodded

Pa rum pum pum pum,

He stood defiantly

Pa rum pum pum pum

I used my revolver

Pa rum pum pum pum

And saved this case solver

Pa rum pum pum pum

Rum pum pum pum

Rum pum pum pum

Then he smiled at me

Pa rum pum pum pum

Me and my gun

~O~

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Loosely based on "The Little Drummer Boy"


	2. Ch 2 - A Winter's Morning

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

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Prompt: It is snowing and Watson does not want to get out of bed. He is very grumpy with Holmes.

From: SheWhoScrawls

Date: December 2nd

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A/N: It's been a long time since I've lived anywhere with winter and snow. Hopefully my memories are still accurate!

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_"Very sorry to knock you up, Watson," said he, "but it's the common lot this morning. Mrs. Hudson has been knocked up, she retorted upon me, and I on you." ACD, SPEC_

~o~

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**A WINTER'S MORNING**

"No, no, no," Watson mumbled into his pillow, his words of resistance muffled by the soft feather-down filling of his headrest. The sweet tendrils of sleep still clutched his mind and body and convincingly beckoned him to remain within his warm, comfortable cocoon of blankets.

"Watson, do get up," Holmes peeked into the bedroom at the reposing doctor. "I haven't uttered one note upon my violin for at least six hours – an extraordinary amount of time and ample opportunity for you to refresh your mortal cellular structures. There's simply no reason for you to stay in bed any longer."

But during this instructive homily on the resting requirements of the human body, Watson slipped silently back into his dream of hunting pheasants among the rolling countryside of Sussex. _Just a few more minutes. Inch forward. Slow. Steady. Careful, don't step on the branch and make a noise._ He was almost within range of a fine specimen. He raised his rifle and steadied it against his shoulder, lining up the bird in his sight, finger on the trigger. He prepared to shoot –

Bang! Holmes flung the door of the bedroom wide open.

Watson's eyes flew open and his mind struggled to grasp the sudden transformation of realities. Heart pounding, the now awake man blinked and sat up in surprise.

Holmes leaned over his confused flat mate. "Excellent, my dear Watson. I'm glad to see you have at last returned from the Land of Nod."

Not in the least bit amused by such a rude and jarring expulsion from sleep to wakefulness, Watson looked out the window and noticed snow flakes falling thick and fast outside, leaving an icy, lace-like patterns on the glass panes. "It's snowing outside. No cab will be traveling in this dense snowstorm. What is so important that you must drag me from my dreams?"

As the cool draft seeped through his nightshirt and little puffs of condensation formed with each breath, his temper took a decided turn toward grumpy. "Holmes, you have forced me out of my warm layer of bliss for nothing! I am not amused." He mumbled about sinister speckled bands and devil's feet as his toes recoiled against the cold floor.

Holmes wisely retreated to the sitting room.

At last, Watson trudged down the steps having finished his morning rituals. His grumpy mood had not improved. In fact, the more he considered the situation, the greater his angst. He thought of Moran's air rifle, giant waterfalls in Switzerland, poisons, poker sticks, and hangman loops. He reached the bottom stair and stopped. His eyes swept around the sitting room. "Holmes!" he exclaimed in wonderment.

Feigning disinterest but with a hint of a pleased smile upon his lips, Holmes looked up from the paper.

"You've decorated the entire room for Christmas." Boughs of holly, verdant evergreens, three candles flickering on the windowsill, and a lovely Christmas tree in the corner opposite the mantle. "This is amazing!" He could hardly believe his eyes. "I had no idea you even remembered the season." A warm feeling from inside his heart flowed through his veins as he contemplated his friend's gesture of loving-kindness.

"I made tea," Holmes remarked. "It's on the breakfast table."

Suddenly there was a thud from the direction of the steps. The detective turned to find his dear doctor had fainted from surprise.

~o~


	3. Ch 3 - I Wonder As I Wander

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: Ten Word Challenge: Recklessness, Savage, Secret, Sunset, Shock, Erratic, Rough, Burning, Engage, Anguish

From: Lemon Zinger

Date: December 3rd

POV: Sherlock Holmes

_Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary licence utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme._

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A/N: Warning: This particular prompt was composed during some rather tragic circumstances and I have unashamedly taken my angst out on poor Holmes and Watson. I am not sorry, though I am sorry for all the real pain and suffering that surrounds us. This is just a small reminder to appreciate each new day as a gift – a wonderful gift - an ephemeral wisp that could disappear at any moment. Treasure those you love this holiday season!

~o~

**I Wonder as I Wander**

I wonder as I wander in anguish I cry

Why Watson my dear friend should savagely die

Such rough on'ry people so reckless awry…

I wonder as I wander in anguish I cry.

~o~

When evil engaged him 'twas in a cruel brawl,

Erratic and brutal and shocking and all.

I raced to his rescue when heard I his call,

Alas! My dear Boswell would ne'er more enthrall.

~o~

Dear Watson your loss is a bitter cruel sting,

No star in the heavens, or secrets on wing,

Or all of God's angels in sunsets can bring,

A respite from this pain, which keeps on burning.

~o~

I wonder as I wander in anguish I cry

Why Watson my dear friend should savagely die

~o~

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_It was worth a wound — it was worth many wounds — to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain. All my years of humble but single-minded service culminated in that moment of revelation._ ACD, 3GAR


	4. Ch 4 - Holmesian Christmas Tree

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

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Prompt: Christmas Tree

From: embracetheweird

Date: December 4th

POV: Watson

_Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme._

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**A Holmesian Christmas Tree**

_~o~_

Holmes

Sherlock*Holmes

Detective*Consultant

Chemist*Actor*Sleuth-hound

Brilliant*Intellectual*Observant*Keen

Machine-like*Cold*Bohemian*Solitary*Precise

Confident*Practical*Rational*Intense*Curious*Logical

Driven*Lethargic*Melancholic*Philosophical*Mercurial* Obsessed

My Friend

My Ally

My Partner

My Muse

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"_There was something in his masterly grasp of a situation, and his keen, incisive reasoning, which made it a pleasure to me to study his system of work, and to follow the quick, subtle methods by which he disentangled the most inextricable mysteries. "_ ACD, SCAN


	5. Ch 5 - A Post War Christmas

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: Holmes and Watson's first post-WWI Christmas

From: Aleine Skyfire

Date: December 5th

POV: Watson

a/n: Sorry guys! Can't seem to write anything light and funny these days. (*shrug*)

_Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme._

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_"Good old Watson! You are the one fixed point in a changing age. There's an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson and a good many of us may wither before its blast. But it's God's own wind nonetheless, and a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared_." ACD, His Last Bow: An Epilogue of Sherlock Holmes

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~o~

My arthritic joints protested with tiny crisp popping noises and intermittent darts of pain against my unusually arduous walk this cold, winter's afternoon. The gradual progression of my rheumatism had caused me to reduce the number outings and visitations over the last few years, especially in weather such as today. When such icy cold days settled over London, I often passed the hours at my eldest daughter's house, soaking up the warmth of the hearth, listening to the background chatter of two enthusiastic grandchildren, reading the latest news and medical literature, and writing up my memoirs.

Today being Christmas, I'd spent the morning presiding over a festive event of unwrapping presents, singing carols, and feasting on such luxury items that had not been available since before the Great War. There was much rejoicing and thanksgiving at this first Christmas after the war had ended.

Later in the day, after the couples had headed out and the children had run off to try out their new toys, I found myself alone. As much as I relished the unexpected solitude and quiet, I soon became restless. I found myself longing for familiar company where we might relax and exchange memories or simply share in each other's thoughts in a contented silence. I bundled up in coat, scarf, and boots against the December chill and set off with little notion as to the destination.

Now I found myself standing on the southern slopes of the Sussex Downs overlooking the Channel. Nearby, a familiar gravestone stood, solitary, upright, watching the heaping of the seas at the base of jagged and untamed white-chalk bluffs. I couldn't help but reflect that the setting mirrored his own Bohemian temperament. A great brain with a great heart that remained solitary and composed against the crashing waves of criminal activities.

My reflections took me back to the last time he and I had stood together gazing out over the Channel. His words had proved remarkably prophetic as the events of the next few years with Great War unfolded across the dramatic backdrop of two continents and an ocean. My friend, the detective who had devoted his entire life to the study of criminal minds, had also been able to predict the destiny of entire nations. "Holmes, I miss you," I involuntarily whispered to the wind that blew up-channel. "I miss your amazingly, sharp logic that never ceased to astound and surprise me with deductions. I miss watching you solve an entire case with just the minutest of details that others failed to observe. I miss the strolls through the colourful London streets while you'd chatter effortlessly about the secrets of the strangers passing by our vantage point."

I sighed wistfully and shifted my weight to the opposite leg in an attempt to lessen its aching disapproval of my recent exercise. The cold winter weather had left the earth brown and barren of its coverings of verdant vegetation, scrubby green-speckled bushes and climbing vines. The constant breeze and chilly wisps that snuck in through the crevices of my warm attire, reminded me of the season. I shivered involuntarily and wished more fervently for the warmth of his friendship, someone to huddle near and offer a comforting shelter from the winds.

A hollow dark chasm lingered deep in my heart despite the years that had passed since his death. It was a vague longing, an aching desire that in the end left me feeling desolate and alone. I shook my head. How could I feel this way? I had a darling family and loyal friends that surrounded me with their love every day. Still the sentiment burrowed all the deeper within my heart. Mere words could not express the loneliness, and barrenness.

His name, "Sherlock Holmes" graven upon the grey quartz blurred as my eyes involuntarily welled with tears. "How could you leave me?" I said accusingly to the voiceless stone. "You abandoned me." A surge of anger coursed through my veins for some moments before it was replaced with the familiar emptiness.

"Please, Holmes, just one more case to solve together. One more evening sitting by the fire, our pipes sending up dueling spires of smoke, while you regale me with those fantastic exercises of deduction you are so fond of." I paused in my pleas. There was no one around to hear, only his stony headstone. "If only Holmes…" My voice trailed off. "I miss you're melodies skillfully coached from the strings of your violin. I miss those wry smiles that expand into crinkling eyes and a burst of rare laughter."

My lonely heart's outburst finished, I remained still and lifted my eyes to gaze over the expanse of the rugged scenery and waves crashing against the cliffs. The chalk-cliffs were solid and protecting yet jagged and dangerous. They were a study in contrasts with their captivating, wild beauty. They remained a symbol of our relationship together over the many years.

The shadows gradually lengthened and danced against the pale stones forming animated shapes of adventure, danger, struggles, and laughter. Before my eyes emerged that slender form with aquiline face and persistent pipe bending near my ear and in that familiar voice whispering, "You'll come with me, won't you?"

I answer the billowing winds floating upward. "If I can be of use."

I hear his voice answer as always, "Oh, a trusty comrade is always of use; and a chronicler still more so.*"

Sighing, I finally wipe the moisture from my eyes and turn toward the path that will lead me back to my evening accommodations. There I will dream, as I always dream, of marvelous adventures alongside Holmes, tingling with that pleasure I invariably experience when in association with him on his investigations.

~o~

* ACD, TWIS


	6. Ch 6 - No Laughing Matter

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: Holmes tries to learn how to tell jokes

From: Alice Wright

Date: December 6th

A/N: Something a little more lighthearted I hope.

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Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme.

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**No Laughing Matter**

"No, Holmes, that's not what I'd consider a laughing matter," Watson sighed and set his pen down to look at his friend.

"Why not? The wide eyes, the look of dismay – it was perfect for my study of humanoid reactions to horror." Holmes lay languidly stretched out on the sofa wrapped up in his usual dressing gown with a bored expression. He stood up and gave his skull a loving caress as he replaced it back on the mantelpiece.

"Because," Watson paused searching for the right words, "frightening people for scientific research is not nice. It's not funny to mock someone else's suffering."

"Hum." Holmes appeared unconvinced but returned without another word to his ruminations.

~o~

"This is not a joke!" Mrs Hudson stood towering over Holmes with her hands on her hips shooting daggers with her eyes at the reclining detective.

"What?" he looked up at the clearly upset landlady.

"Revolver practice inside. Shooting holes in my wall." She fumed.

"Where else was I supposed to practice?" he answered flatly. "It's impossible to shoot in the streets of London these days with the increasing numbers of inhabitants and the overcrowding. Besides, I thought the V.R. was a fun touch."

"Holmes!" was all Mrs Hudson could find to say as she marched from the room shaking her head hopelessly over her tenant's tomfoolery.

~o~

"Here, why don't you read these over," Watson handed his comedy-challenged friend a book of jokes. "Maybe it'll give you some ideas of what constitutes a good joke."

Holmes reached up and took it half-heartedly. Later, when Watson surreptitiously snuck a peek he was pleased to note the apathetic detective flipping through the pages.

~o~

Gregson burst through the door, startling Watson from his perusing of the latest news in the paper. Holmes managed to twist his head in the direction of the Detective Inspector. "Pray, take a seat," Watson indicated the nearby chair.

Composing himself after his dramatic entrance, the Inspector cleared his throat and began, "Well, you see, it's probably nothing, just a mere trifle, but the sort of thing you take an interest in — queer, you know." He stopped to see if we were listening.

Holmes stretched his lean figure on the sofa and yawned with an air of disinterest and a languid wave of his hand at the inspector, " Please, continue, I always yawn when I'm interested."

Inspector Gregson raised his eyebrows ever so slightly in surprise but plodded forward with his narrative. "It's this murder. On the surface all the facts point to Peters as the culprit, but, yet…" Here he paused thinking back over the events of his latest investigation.

"Don't stop now, Inspector," Holmes interrupted his reverie. "I'd be wary of letting your mind wander too far over the facts, it's far to small to be let out on its own."

Watson let out an involuntary gasp. Where was this sudden cynicism coming from?

Choosing to ignore the rude comment due to his desperation in the matters at hand, Gregson resumed. "He had motive and means, yet, his alibi is solid. More than ten respectable citizens can testify that he was not at the scene of the murder at the fateful hour." Despite a few snorts from the direction of the sofa, he did, at last, manage to lay all the facts of the case before us. "So you see," he wrung his hands nervously, "you see my dilemma now, don't you? What am I to do?"

"Come now, Inspector," my colleague groaned in annoyance. "For someone with such a big head, you have a surprisingly small brain inside it. Clearly it was Peters who murdered the woman. The testimonies of those who saw him undoubtedly show that it was the identical twin brother that they saw on the night of the crime." The genius detective rattled off a precise logical chain of reasoning that, indeed, did point to Peter's having a twin.

Watson rose to escort the relieved Inspector out.

As they reached the door, a familiar voice wafted from the sofa. "I would have liked to insult you, but, truth be told, you probably wouldn't have understood me. Good day, Inspector."

I shook my head at his peculiar transformation of comportment, even for Holmes he was being ridiculously uncouth. "Don't mind him, Inspector, he's not had a case in days. You know how he gets."

The bewildered man shrugged and slowly made his way down the stairs to his waiting cab, still puzzled.

As soon as I saw the carriage drive off, I turned to my irascible flatmate. "Holmes! Whatever has happened to your manners. That was inexcusably rude!"

"Humour, my dear Watson. I was practicing some of the jokes I read in that volume you so recently loaned me, or have you forgotten so soon?" With a perfectly impassive expression he continued, "Scotland Yard has never been known for it's intelligence, and now Gregson, he's one of the worst. The man is cruelly depriving a village somewhere of an idiot."

"Enough!" I raised my hand in objection. "I don't know, perhaps the chemicals have damaged your frontal lobe somehow, but that" – I paused for emphasis – "is NOT humour. That is what is known as biting sarcasm."

"I see," Holmes answered innocently, "that explains the chapter title."

"Try to avoid this sarcasm in front of our clients and friends in the future," I admonished. The Yard may never step foot in this flat again if you persist in such outrageous behavior.

~o~

It was several weeks later, I'd almost forgotten Holmes' unsuccessful attempts at striking an appropriate and funny joke. I returned from my rounds to find him in conversation with a round, stout, short man with an impressive mop of fiery red hair.

"Pardon me," I turned to leave to give Holmes and his client their privacy.

"No, do join us," my friend exclaimed in an unusually cheerful voice. "This gentleman was just about to relate a most unusual sequence of events that I believe would interest you as well." Holmes chuckled and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when in high spirits (ACD, REDH).

Curious I settled down in my chair to listen to the client's tale, which turned out to be one of the most singular and unique cases I'd ever heard. After the fiery red haired man puffed down the steps having satisfactorily presented his troubles before the great detective, Holmes turned and looked at me. I raised an amused eyebrow in return. Suddenly the comical side of the affair overwhelmed us and we both burst into fits of uncontrolled laughter. Tears rolling down my eyes I gasped, "Now that – Holmes - that is – truly something funny!"

~o~


	7. Ch 7 - Living Fire

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: Fire

From: Werepanther33

Date: December 7th

A/N: I am not a poet and make no claims to writing poetry. Consider this simply an alternative arrangement of repetitive words!

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_Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme._

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**Living Fire**

Fire with a gun;

Fire out a pun.

~o~

Fire the imagination;

Fire for investigation.

~o~

Fire causes destruction;

Fire removes obstruction.

~o~

Fire warms me at the hearth;

Fire tends toward icy dearth.

~o~

Fire burns to make things clean;

Fire burns to run machine.

~o~

Fiery tempers flare;

Fiery red-heads' hair.

~o~

A fire burns within my soul;

A flame I scarce control.

~o~

O flickering flame!

O fluttering heart!

~o~

Thoughts that smolder and ne'er glow colder -

~o~

Holmes and Watson ever,

Luminous forever.

~o~

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_"I don't think you need alarm yourself," said I. "I have usually found that there was method in his madness."_

_"Some folk might say there was madness in his method," muttered the inspector. "But he's all on fire to start…"_ - ACD, REIG


	8. Ch 8 - Deep Within the depths

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: Must begin with the words – "Deep within the depths of the city..."

From: Hades Lord of the Dead

Date: December 8th

A/N: There are several inspirations for this story. Hades LotD for the prompt, my husband for mentioning sewers and public health, and MadameGiry25 and her masterful piece titled The Ghost Map.

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_Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme._

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Deep within the depths of the city there lurked an invisible killer, sinister, malicious, ruthless, and merciless with an appetite for death that was never satisfied. It was evil itself. No heart. No remorse. Even Moriarty with all his mathematical genius and extensive network of criminals was helpless in the face of this silent, unrelenting murderer. Husbands, mothers, children – they were all alike – no one was safe from the horrible tortuous death as it squeezed its victims dry of every last ounce of vital fluid.

~o~

Like a ominous ghost, the killer lay mysteriously within the sewers of London. On that fateful night it flowed through the taps, wrecking havoc on any unsuspecting victim it contacted. Swirling, gyrating flagellum propelling it's plump comma-shaped body forward effortlessly through the water, it attacked. One day scientists would give it a name, _Vibrio Cholerae_, gram negative facultative anaerobic obligate bacterium. For now, it lurked unseen and unknown, simply acknowledged as the miasma of death.

~o~

The infant, just shy of his second birthday, let out a high-pitched wail, twisting and inconsolable despite the caresses of Mrs Hudson while she held him. Dr Watson noted the weak flutter of the pulse and the shallow rapid breaths of his struggling tiny patient. All his medical instincts told him that the boy's condition was grave. The prognosis was not an optimistic one. Deliberately pushing aside such morose doubts, he concentrated on the practical matters. _Severe dehydration. Tenting of the skin. Decreasing responsiveness. Needs more fluid. Weight down one kilogram. Twenty times ten equals two hundred_ _milliliters of fluid._ He switched off the emotional side of his brain and forced himself to become an unfeeling thinking machine.

Despite his best efforts, the infant continued to lose precious bodily fluids at an alarming rate. _God help me_! The doctor pleaded silently. _Don't let this innocent child suffer. He doesn't deserve such_. Sweat dripped off his brow and his face was pale, drawn and hollow. Dark circles formed round eyes of fierce desperation betraying the sleepless night he'd spent hovering round the sick bed.

_Concentrate. Think_. He commanded his wallowing mind. _What else can I do_? His lips pressed together tightly and his top teeth clamped down upon his lower lip to repress the trembling, heedless to the salty warm taste of blood as he racked his brain for anything – anything at all that might help.

Mrs Hudson's anxiously watched them both. She'd never seen Watson so haggard before. Her worry grew as the infant became weaker and his convulsions expelled those precious sips of water she managed to feed him. She couldn't even remember how many times she'd changed his napkin. Too many.

The tortured doctor buried his emotions and refocused. Fear climbed up to his throat choking him. A hallow sensation in his stomach insistently reminded him of the dire circumstances. He tried to concentrate. _Pulse one hundred and thirty-three. Respirations fifty-four. Capillary refill three seconds. Skin dry, wrinkled. Anterior fontanel depressed. Eyes dry, no tears_. Internally he groaned. He was losing the battle – a battle in which winning meant the world to him. No matter what he did, the child grew weaker, lethargic. He barely responded when stuck by the needle. His face tense and rigid, Watson plodded forward hoping for a miracle. _Please, God! Please! Just this once. That's all I ask. _

In the wee hours of the early morning his son passed away. There was nothing more he could do. He had lost. And how he had lost! Doubt overwhelmed. Mental and physical exhaustion filled him yet he felt drained. His thoughts swirled in an angry cacophony of accusatory notes. _Should have. If only_… rang over and over in his grief stricken state. He alternated between despair, anger, and depression. _Why? First his wife, now his son. Why_? No answers came. He collapsed onto the sofa and curled up covering his eyes and shutting out the world with a blanket Mrs Hudson had kindly offered and let the waves of hopelessness roll over him. He felt very un-doctorly.

~o~

A hand rested on his shoulder. Watson blinked. He tried to remember. Light filtered through the weave of his covering. Suddenly the events of the past twenty-four hours surged to his consciousness. He closed his eyes again and tried to crawl back into his cocoon of oblivion.

"Watson?" A familiar voice penetrated his shell of pain.

"Holmes?" Watson hesitantly folded back the blanket and found himself staring into the concerned face of his friend. "Where have you been?"

"I'll tell you later." Holmes said softly. "At the moment it's not important. The important part is that I'm here now – for you." His grey eyes brimmed with threatening tears and searched the face of his friend for a response.

"He's dead," Watson said dully.

"I know."

"I tried everything but he still died."

"I'm sorry."

Watson looked up into a face full of tender concern. Their eyes met. A thousand unspoken words were exchanged. "Holmes," he choked, "I didn't even cry. I couldn't."

Without a word Holmes reached out a hand and took hold of the other's. "It's ok, Watson. It hurts."

The two men remained hushed and still for some time like that. Watson found solace in the presence of the other. At last a tear trickled down the side of his face. In the safety of their friendship, the emotions returned, wave after wave of grief, sadness and loss. And although the tears would continue to flow for a long time afterward, at least he would not be alone.

~o~

"_What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever. ACD, CARD_

~o~

If you live in a country with safe drinking water and proper sewage disposal, count your blessings and give a nod to John Snow, a British physician considered one of the founders of epidemiology and public health for his work in identifying the source of a cholera outbreak in 1854.

And if you think cholera is a disease of the past I dare you to do a search on the Internet for "cholera outbreaks".

Please do go and read MadameGiry25's work "The Ghost Map" for a much more comprehensive and intriguing view into the Cholera epidemic in Soho in 1854 and Holmes and Watson's involvement in it!


	9. Ch 9 - A Surprise Visit

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: Sherlock gets a surprise visit

From: Werepanther33

Date: December 9th

_A/N: Something lighthearted, fun, and silly. Hope you enjoy._

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_Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme._

* * *

Holmes paced restlessly in the sitting room. Back and forth with an occasional intermission at the front window overlooking the London street, intent and still for a brief moment in hopes of observing any deviation from the commonplace in the wintry landscape below.

"Watson," he cried in a querulous voice, "this dreadful weather is keeping even the criminals shut down in their lairs. The fatigue is utterly insufferable!"

"Don't you have papers that would benefit from a methodical arrangement befitting your neat and tidy brain attic," I hinted from the other side of the room.

"If you and Mrs Hudson would cease from your endless attempts at rearranging my perfectly logical filing system, I would not have a problem finding my records," he sniffed back primly. "I can ascertain the exact date of any document by the thickness of the dust."

"But Holmes! Some of the dust is this thick," I indicated a large gap between my thumb and forefinger."

"December of 1884," he replied promptly and then spun abruptly on his heel to resume his agitated pacing. "I am sorely tempted to join the criminal ranks if only to escape this endless ennui!" He threatened only half in jest.

"Still, it wouldn't hurt to at least straighten a few of your insufferable piles of papers a bit," I turned back to my manuscript annoyed at my fellow lodger's cluttered personal habits and constant pacing that was beginning to give me a throbbing headache.

When the rapid footfalls added to their rhythm the irregular tapping on the mantelpiece and the high-pitched, screeching tunes of his violin, I determined to give my senses a reprieve by taking a stroll through the park. Bundling myself with coat and scarf against the bitter chill, I left him biting at his nails in fretful impatience.

I returned some hours later in a more lenient mood having spent a delightful time chatting and catching up with an old colleague I'd stumbled into at the park. Standing upon the doorstep I noted an ominously silent atmosphere. Fearing the worst, I anxiously entered our flat and surveyed the scene before my eyes. Holmes lay stretched and immobile in his deep chair eyelids closed on an impassive pale face. Somewhat relieved but still wondering, I left him to whatever unfathomable thoughts circled through his impenetrable intellect.

Seventy-two hours passed yet my flatmate failed to stir from his prostrated state. Despite his initial confession upon our meeting at Bart's in 1881, I began to worry. How long should I allow a silent, sulking detective who was down in the dumps to remain undisturbed? By the fourth day I determined something needed to be done.

But what could bring the great brain out of his morose depression? I thought about his brother, Mycroft. _No_, I dismissed the idea. Mycroft was a nice gentleman but he didn't strike me as the type of person to cheer someone up. _Detective Inspector Lestrade or Gregson could be on the comical side especially when they were squabbling over a case in an effort to impress the detective but_ - I decided against them as well. _Too much of a reminder of the his recent lack of criminal casework_. _Mrs Hudson was a likely candidate_. I brightened at the thought. But as I prepared to call down to the sweet landlady I suddenly stopped. Mrs Hudson and Holmes had a bit of an argument recently over an experiment of his in the kitchen that she had 'tidied up'. _Probably not the best timing_. I frowned. The Baker Street Irregulars would be tucked away in their secret underground haunts of London streets trying to keep warm. It would be unfair to expose them to this exceptionally cold weather.

I sat with my head in my hands in thought over the dilemma for some time. At last, and idea came. "That's it!" I exclaimed out loud, excited over such a genius inspiration.

Holmes merely twitched a shoulder in protest at my outburst.

Humming happily, I bundled up once more and set off on my errand with quick, eager steps. Reaching my destination, I knocked sharply at the front door of No. 3 Pinchin Lane. An older man opened in response to my rap and smiled upon recognizing me. "How can I help you?" His smile was genuine, albeit toothless.

I briefly outlined my wants to the occupant as I stepped inside the door. "No, but thank you," I said in reply to his offer to stay and visit. "Rather urgent. Another time perhaps?" I smiled back avoiding close face-to-face conversation and the overpowering smell of garlic on his breath.

"In a 'urry, eh?" his voice was rough and scratchy like the stubble on his chin. "It'll just be a minute then." He shuffled off intent on the business at hand.

As he returned, I let out a shout of joy and thanked him profusely for his kindness. "Don't mention it," he said. He gave me a cheerful wave as I departed back to 221B Baker Street.

"I'm home!" I called breathlessly as I clattered up the stairs and flung open the door. The catatonic bundle in the chair did not stir. Undeterred I hung up my coat and reached down to unload my surprise.

Holmes' inert form gave a sudden shuttering startle. A cold wet orb snuffled enthusiastically at his hand and bumped it to one side. A rough, warm tongue began licking his long fingers with eagerness emphasized by sharp, high-pitched whines. A furry brown paw reached up and rested on the detective's knee. All the while, the dog maintained a meticulous cleansing of the hands.

Holmes opened one eye with a surprised expression. The second eye quickly followed in like manner and a look of pleased recognition spread across his face. "Toby!" Holmes exclaimed. "However did you get here?" He gave me a knowing, sidelong glance. At the mention of his name, Toby's entire rear end began to shake. His tail whipped back and forth sending several piles of papers wafting through the dust-laden air. Holmes didn't notice.

"Toby, you ol' boy," he murmured. He stroked the long, soft brown and white fur. His face relaxed and a smile formed on his lips complete with that upward turning at the corners of his eyes that bespoke of genuine happiness.

I laughed and sat down opposite Holmes, relief warming my heart at the sight of this reunion between man and dog. True. He might be ugly. He was half spaniel, half lurcher with lop ears and a clumsy waddling gait; but, he certainly had charm. I sunk deeper into my chair and let the warmth from the fire seep through me as I continued to marvel at the two detectives happily catching up with each other. A very tall, gaunt, and hawk-nosed human versus a very short, plump, and furry-nosed dog. Not a bad pair, I thought sleepily.

~o~

_"Yes, a queer mongrel with a most amazing power of scent. I would rather have Toby's help than that of the whole detective force of London." ACD, SIGN_


	10. Ch 10 - Katsaridaphobia

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: One of the characters has a very unusual and very potent fear that must be overcome to save a life

From: Lemon Zinger

Date: December 10th

_A/N: Nothing serious today, folks. Just a bit of Blattodea antics!_

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_Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme._

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**Katsaridaphobia**

"Back," I say, "depart from me you vile creature of the devil!" Mrs Hudson trembled with a flustered face, her duster raised and on-guard against her archenemy. The opponent perched serenely on the telephone innocently basking in the rays of sunshine that streamed through the front window on this unusually bright winter day. His bulging beady eyes blinked in blissfulness at the warmth. He stretched out his spindly legs and readjusted a feathery wing.

Beads of perspiration formed on Mrs Hudson's forehead and she gripped her duster handle with both hands to prevent it from slipping in her sweaty palms. She was typically a stalwart soul, unflappable and calm in the face of the most sinister circumstances. She was even the undisputed queen of snowball fights (see ImaLateBloomer, Challenges of December, Ch 3). And though a mouse might startle her momentarily, she easily shooed them off without a second thought. But cockroaches – that was another story!

She despised roaches - ever since that fateful day in grade school, many years ago, when the insects had crawled into her lunch bucket, surprising her as they tumbled out when she eagerly dug into her pail at break. She shrieked in fear and shock as the critters scattered leaving a trailing row of breadcrumbs. Her classmates had howled in laughter at her distress and teased her unmercifully for weeks afterward. Since then she could never think of a cockroach without inwardly cringing. Revolting, malevolent, filthy wretches.

Now in her own abode stood her archenemy inhibiting her telephone use. "Dear me," thought Mrs Hudson, "what shall I do?" She retreated from the enemy' s stronghold and sat down to ponder her options.

Worry creased her face as she considered the situation. She desperately needed to make a phone call in precisely three minutes. Holmes had been adamant on the time. "It is vital to our survival," he'd emphasized with a somber expression. Watson had pocketed his trusty revolver before the two had left the flat on their way to capture the villain and his cohorts.

Mrs Hudson wrung her hands and moaned. She would have to confront her biggest fear (ironic that it was such a tiny bug) in order to save Holmes and Watson. Although they were rather terrible tenants, she cared for them dearly. There was no alternative.

Taking a deep breath to calm the palpitations, she prepared for battle. She tied on her apron, put on her large brimmed hat, slipped on her gloves and took hold of her duster making sure that the iron poker was within easy reach. She cautiously approached the desk with the telephone and noted that the adversary was apparently oblivious to her approach.

Hesitantly she inched forward and tentatively stretched out her duster toward the telephone. The resting arthropod suddenly stood up, antennae twitching angrily at the disturbance. He turned his great black compound eyes to face whoever dared disturb his peace. Spying Mrs Hudson's duster he waggled a double-jointed spindly front appendage in her direction with a very annoyed expression upon his tiny whiskered face.

The poor landlady let out a high-pitched squeak that she promptly squelched. She thought about the detective and the doctor and squared her shoulders with determination. Taking a bold step closer she waved her duster at the irritated insect and tickled his translucent wings and abdomen with the feather tips.

The little roach spun around at such outrage to his dignity. His front legs waved in protest at the infringement. Just then a feather slapped him in the cheek. He came unbalanced. His shiny exoskeleton feet slipped. He scrambled valiantly to regain his foothold but instead slid off the telephone to the desktop, landing with a tiny 'plink'.

"Shoo," Mrs Hudson commanded. Her courage mounting at his downfall, she brandished her duster and pointed it in the direction of the front door. "Out!"

Physically unharmed by the fall, the six-legged rival nonetheless suffered a lethal wound to his pride. He swiveled his head to momentarily glance at his foe. Seeing her determined look, he flicked an antenna angrily in her direction but then hastily scuttled down from the table, little legs scratching across the floor as he darted out the door. "Women!" he huffed.

The adrenaline rush over, Mrs Hudson collapsed into a chair in a state of relief and exaltation. She'd won. She faced her greatest fear and beaten her nemesis. As her pulse slowed down and her breathing became regular, she put away her armory. Checking the clock, she noted the time. "Perfect!" she congratulated herself. Strolling casually over to the telephone she took out her handkerchief to cover the headset and gingerly picked it up to make the vital phone call.

~o~

_"One's ideas must be as broad as Nature if they are to interpret Nature."_ ACD, STUD


	11. Ch 11 - Cluedo

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

* * *

Prompt: Watson and Holmes are trapped in the Clue ® Mansion. Can they solve the murder and leave?

From: SheWhoScrawls

Date: December 11th

A/N: Inspired by a game of Cluedo with my husband. Took a little liberty here with the definition of 'Clue Mansion'.

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_Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme._

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"Watson, where are we? I've never seen anything like this before. Tiled floors, doors ominously closed all around, secret passageways, and random items lying about, like that spanner in the corner over there. Listen! Is that footsteps I hear echoing in the distance?"

The obliging doctor paused a moment and then nodded his head in agreement.

"The ceiling, Watson, have you noticed the ceiling?"

Watson tilted his head up at the excited waggling of his friend's finger. "I don't see any ceiling, Holmes," Watson observed patiently.

"Precisely! Just an empty black vastness without stars. It's like we're outside but clearly we're not! What is this place?"

"It appears, my dear detective, that we are in what is known as an A_lternate Universe'_."

"What the deuces is an _Alternate Universe_?"

"Well, my ol' boy, if you'd read some of those trashy fan fiction stories that you are so fond of criticizing me about, you would realize we are in an AU known as _Cluedo_. One must follow the clues and solve the puzzle in order to escape."

A bemused Holmes looked at his friend with both surprise and intrigue. "How do we find the clues and solve this case then?"

"If my observations are correct, I believe the clues are piled over there. You take one stack; I'll take the other. Then we figure out who murdered Mr Body, with what weapon, and in which room." He ambled over to the pile that remained while his colleague began mumbling to himself as he scanned his own deck of cards.

"Mrs White in the conservatory with the revolver," Watson began.

Holmes shook his head. "I don't have any of those cards."

Watson jotted something down on his shirt cuff.

"Professor Plum in the ballroom with the revolver," Holmes announced.

Watson showed him the revolver. Holmes grimaced.

"Mr Green in the study with the candlestick."

Holmes smirked and revealed his candlestick.

"Mrs Peacock in the kitchen with the rope."

Watson revealed his rope with a cheery smile.

A concentrated expression on his normally placid face, Watson continued, "Mr Green in the billiard room with the poison."

Holmes showed him the poison card.

"Miss Scarlet in the conservatory with the spanner." He gave a wry smile when he was shown Miss Scarlet.

"Miss Scarlet in the conservatory with the lead pipe."

Holmes revealed the conservatory card.

"Colonel Mustard in the conservatory with the lead pipe."

Watson grinned and showed Holmes Colonel Mustard.

"Mrs White –"

"In the library –"

"With the lead pipe," Watson finished.

"I solved it first!" Holmes exclaimed defensively.

"I don't think that's completely true, my friend," Watson shook his head and smiled. "But for now, let's just say that we solved it at the same time."

Suddenly the floor began to tremble. Mrs White, the lead pipe, and the library cards fluttered down landing at the pairs' feet. Holmes and Watson looked up. A great swirling of light and colour began to pick up speed whipping at them with torrential, hurricane–like winds.

~o~

Holmes shook his head and rubbed his eyes with that same faint sensation of disorientation he experienced when he'd slept for forty-eight hours straight at the end of a demanding case. He noted that the sitting room was undisturbed from the night before with its comfortable organized chaos. His friend Watson was slumped on the settee absorbed in his sleep.

"Watson," the unsettled detective called, arousing Watson from his slumber.

With a slight startle, the doctor snapped open his eyes and looked over to his flatmate. "What, Holmes?"

"Did you just have a rather peculiar dream?"

~o~

* * *

_"It has been a case for intellectual deduction, but when this original intellectual deduction is confirmed point by point by quite a number of independent incidents, then the subjective becomes objective and we can say confidently that we have reached our goal."_ ACD, SUSS


	12. Ch 12 - A Tuba & A Puppy

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: Holmes decides to give Watson some trouble after he sleeps in. Trouble that includes a violin. And a small dog.

From: MadameGiry25

Date: December 12th

A/N: I seem to be waking poor Watson up quite a bit in these December stories. I do apologise, ol' boy! I promise we'll let you sleep come January!

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_Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme._

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It was eight o'clock on a Saturday morning. The wind battered valiantly but in vain against the icy windows knocking resolutely but with nothing more than a rattle and a shake from the glass in return. The capricious sun prone to bouts of stubbornness in the winter, refused to expose even a single finger of light from her shrouds of fluffy grey cloud-cloth. Cold. Grey. Windy. Not a day one plans to stroll about in the park for pleasure.

Watson had partially woken for a few brief moments at six o'clock but upon remembering it was Saturday had a moment of euphoria then quickly returned to his dreams, snuggling deeper into his warm blankets. Being a doctor, he was blessed with the ability to fall back asleep anywhere and anytime. It was a skill he'd perfected over long years of inconvenient nighttime calls to visit the sick.

Suddenly a high-pitched cacophonous chorus of impatient notes riddled the air with their voices interrupting Watson's dreams of figgy pudding. He groaned. _Holmes! Is there not at least one day in which I can rest and wake in leisure?_ He pulled his feather pillow over his head and scrunched even further under the covers creating a small sound barrier against the onslaught. Although not a hundred percent effective, he managed to drift back to his figgy pudding at least.

OOooooOOOOooooo…. A horrible deep throaty noise boomed through the flat sending vibrating waves shivering through the seams of Watson's bed. The low base notes had a familiar resemblance to the mournful moans of a dying moose. The deeper tones penetrated his blanket barrier and infiltrated his head. He tried going back to sleep but the irregular, painful, moaning seeped through his pores and his figgy pudding refused to return.

Watson finally abandoned all hope of sleeping later and with a sad air of resignation rose to begin the day. He wrapped himself in a comfortable dressing gown and slipped on his fuzzy slippers and trudged down the stairs to the sitting room. All the while he wondered how Holmes had managed to obtain his tuba from its hiding place under the bed when it was last used to fight off the wails of Holmes' violin (1).

There was no sign of the tuba when Watson arrived downstairs. Holmes was innocently perusing his files and barely acknowledged his presence. Continuing his morning routine, Watson settled himself down at the dining table and proceeded to pour himself a cup of tea. A crinkling of paper behind caused him to glance over at Holmes but the somber detective seemed engrossed in his filing. All of a sudden, Watson felt a tugging at his left slipper. Before he could react he found himself slipperless on his left foot. "Holmes!" Watson cried instinctively.

"What?" the detective answered blandly from across the room.

A growling sound emanated from under the large chair by the mantle. Upon closer inspection, Watson spied a brown and white wagging tail poking out from underneath the legs.

"There's a dog in here (2)!"

"Yes, Watson." Holmes replied. "You are clearly the master of stating the obvious today."

"But, but…" Watson stammered in surprise. "How did he get here?"

"Early Christmas present," his friend replied calmly.

"From whom?"

"I believe Dr. James Mortimer. It appears our phosphorescent hound of Baskerville was quite the _don juan_. This one is the last of the litter, I believe."

Watson called out to the little dog. With enthusiasm it came bounding up to Watson with the slipper looking a bit limp and bedraggled with a fresh coat of slime gripped tightly between his teeth. He had short hair with large brown and white spots. His ears flopped over his face and his puppy-dog eyes were enough to melt the hardest of hearts. "He is rather a cute puppy," Watson's voice softened at the comical spectacle of small dog and large slipper. "Did you have to wake me up so early though, Holmes? It's Saturday you know."

I believe the puppy needs his morning constitutional," was all that his astute detective friend answered.

"Holmes!" Watson groaned in protest. "You could have taken him out."

"It was easier to play the tuba when I deduced that you are now immune to my violin than expend my efforts taking a puppy for a walk in this weather." His eyes traveled to the subject of conversation." I defer to the experts in such matters. Clearly, you are the expert as I distinctly remember a bull pup of yours." He didn't look up from his papers.

Watson made a wry face and was about to argue. Abruptly he changed his mind. "I think I will return the tuba to the music shop on my stroll with the puppy."

Holmes appeared not to hear.

Later as Watson bundled up to take his furry, wriggling bundle for a morning walk carrying the offending tuba with him, Holmes innocently remarked just before the door closed behind him. "There is the nose-flute, you know (3)".

(1).ImaLateBloomer: Challenges of December, Chapter 5

(2).Mrspencil: Moor Verse, Chapter 7

(3).Cjnwriter: A Sherlockian Christmas, Chapter 1

~o~

* * *

_"What have you to confess now? It's just as well for two fellows to know the worst of one another before they begin to live together."_

_I laughed at this cross-examination. "I keep a bull pup," I said, "and I object to rows because my nerves are shaken, and I get up at all sorts of ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. I have another set of vices when I'm well, but those are the principal ones at present._" ACD, STUD


	13. Ch 13 - The Invitation

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: Lestrade is being forced to run a holiday party at Scotland Yard. He is not impressed, but when Holmes finds out about it, he's really not impressed.

From: MadameGiry25

Date: December 13th

A/N: Lestrade to run a holiday party at Scotland Yard? What could possibly go wrong?!

* * *

_Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme._

* * *

_"This looks like one of those unwelcome social summonses which call upon a man either to be bored or to lie."_ ACD, NOBL

~o~

"But it's not like I asked for this arduous, prickly task, Holmes," Lestrade explained with a trace of annoyance in his voice. "Since I must though, would you please come? It'll boost the moral of the force. I'll make sure there's decent food."

"It is no reflection on your party planning skills. I'm sure you are quite capable. I am simply not inclined toward the flippant, frivolous, fripperies of a Scotland Yard Christmas celebration." Holmes spun round and effectively conveyed his abhorrence of all such festive merrymaking.

The disappointed Inspector shrugged his shoulders in helplessness and looked at me with pleading eyes. I shook my head and mouthed back silently, "No, not this time."

Despite Holmes' determined resistance, a thick be-ribboned envelope containing a handsome invitation to join the Yarder's celebration arrived on our doorstep some days later (1). "Why not go, just for a few hours?" I cajoled as I read the summons.

Only a subtle blink of his eye told me he'd heard. I sighed but resigned myself to a quiet evening on the day of the festivity. I considered going by myself but then I reflected about the other attendees of the Christmas celebration. A Scotland Yard party would be less than ideal for finding a lovely unattached lady.

~o~

The next day as I was perusing the latest gossip in the agony columns, Holmes suddenly punctuated the silent atmosphere. "Watson, I do believe we shall attend Lestrade's Scotland Yard party after all. I can see several distinct possibilities of interesting research for the evening.

I lowered the paper and gazed at Holmes trying to decide if he was serious. It was such an abrupt change of plans and unusual for the solitary detective. A nagging apprehension erupted in the back of my mind; yet I could find no reason why such a foreboding feeling should foreshadow our attendance. "I shall be delighted to come with you, Holmes."

"Capitol! My dear, Watson! It's settled then. We shall enjoy an evening of laughter and joy at the Yard tonight."

I tried to hush the insistent tiny voice in my head. _What could possibly go wrong? It's only a Christmas party after all._ Yet the feeling would not go away…

~o~

(1). To see why Holmes suddenly changed his mind and what mayhem and madness ensued please see mrspencil's Felons and Festive Fripperies, Chapter 3: Holmes Alone.

~o~


	14. Ch 14 - No Prompt

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: No Prompt & Do not let him in. Or too late you'll realized you've jumped into a whole new dimension of trouble.

From: Blank & The Inner Titan

Date: December 14th

A/N: Really, really silly little idea that came to me as I rechecked my notices for today's prompt. Not sure how this will work. It's an experiment! Addendum added rather sleepily.

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_Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme._

* * *

"Watson!" Have you noticed something unusual today?"

"You mean something normal, making it abnormal, in regards to your life?" Watson replied calmly from across the room as he sat at his writing desk penning another one of their singular and bizarre adventures.

"Watson, you over dramatize things. Superfluous fluff! Romantised stories. Flowery word pictures…but what I was going to say was that the day has been devoid of any prompts."

"Is that so, Holmes?" Watson was surprised at this outburst from Holmes. "But Holmes, why do you care if there are no prompts? I believe it was just yesterday that I heard you complaining about the frivolous and ridiculous activities going on this holiday season because of the December Challenge prompts."

Holmes hopped onto the chair and perched on the edge like an owl, silent for a moment, pondering Watson's shocking observation. With an enigmatic smile he wagged a teasing finger at his friend. "Watson, you are developing a certain unexpected vein of pawky humour against which I must learn to guard myself (VALL)".

Watson grinned in return.

"As much as it pains me to admit such, I may need to amend my former statement of yesterday,"

Holmes jumped off the chair and walked over to the mantelpiece and picked up his skull decorated for the season with a furry red Santa hat. "I've made a blunder, my dear Watson — which is, I'm afraid, a more common occurrence than anyone would think who only knew me through your memoirs (SILV)."

"Is that so, Holmes?" Watson sat up straighter in his chair and edged away from the desk with an air of sudden interest.

"After a rather short chain of reasoning, I have come to the conclusion that as peculiar as prompts may initially appear on the surface, they lend themselves to rather intriguing research. They amuse me and help to while away the endless hours of ennui that plague me."

He gave Watson a wry smile. "You know how I am when the criminal classes are lazy."

Watson grimaced and nodded.

"I have deduced that this holiday season would have been much less festive without the prompts." He smiled mischievously, "with a lot fewer explosions, fires, spiky mistletoe…"

"Go on," Watson encouraged his flatmate. He was looking forward to seeing where this train of reasoning might lead.

"The spiky greenery of mistletoe and holly capturing the escaped prisoners will go down in history at the Yard. Not to mention my little experiment with the Christmas lights yesterday (1)!.

"Quite true," Watson laughed. "Remember the time we had to go up to the attic and a bat chased you (2)?"

Holmes blushed. "He perched for days on my chair too. Cheeky little creature," he huffed. Changing the topic he spoke up. "Remember when your moustache disappeared (3)…"

"And you didn't recognize me," his friend chuckled as he rubbed his newly returned facial hair affectionately. He thought about mentioning how he had disguised himself as Mycroft and interrogated Holmes (4). He quickly dismissed the idea. Better to get Mycroft's permission first. No need for two upset brothers.

Getting up and moving closer to the fire, Watson looked at Holmes' pipe lying nearby. "Bubbles, my friend, bubbles (5)."

"No need to remind me," Holmes interjected quickly, "I might have to reclaim that book of romantic drivel by Shakespeare (6)."

"Some chocolate from one of my admirers (7)?" Watson changed the subject and proffered a sweet.

"Thanks, but I'll stick to the fruitcake now that I know the secret ingredient (8)," Holmes replied amiably.

Watson licked his fingers clean of the gooey, chocolate-y goodness and relaxed. "You know, you certainly have had a few misfortunes come your way due to these prompts. I seem to remember a certain tiger in the zoo and an experiment with feline hair (9)."

"I had everything under control the entire time, ol' boy," the recent tree-inhabitant proclaimed.

"Even your deductive skills have been brought into question," the doctor teased, "I seem to remember a certain case where both you and Mycroft were mistaken about a woman passing in the street during one of your deductive games (10)."

"Won't happen again, I assure you," the consulting detective said grandly. "Besides, I did solve that difficult case with the missing watch that you were entirely in the dark about (11). He tried to think of a few more successful cases to boost his ego during this recent bout of disastrous experimentation.

"Well," Watson said comfortingly, "Don't worry. I won't replace you with a poly-analysis android - not yet anyway (12).

"How comforting," Holmes said blandly.

The two men thought for a couple of moments, each lost in their own reverie over the past two weeks and all the hilarious exploits and adventures. Then they looked up at each other. Their eyes caught the twinkle in each other's faces. Unable to contain the holiday humour infecting their lives, prompt or no prompt, they burst into a chorus of laughter.

~o~

Their laughter final settled down with a few lingering snickers. Suddenly, a prompt flashed across their lives. Doctor and detective stared at the prompt shimmering in their alternate universe. "What do you think?" Watson finally said and turned to his partner.

"I think," said Holmes cautiously, "that we should not let him, or it, in. Not tonight, anyway." He shrugged his shoulders.

"You have a point, Holmes," the wise Watson agreed. "If we do let it in, we'll inevitably fall into a whole new dimension of trouble before we've even had a chance to say, _Inner Titan_!"

Holmes nodded his head. For once the two shared a perfectly simultaneous and symmetric line of thinking.

~o~

* * *

(1). mrspencil Felons and Festive Fripperies Ch 3 and 10

(2). ImaLateBloomer Challenges of December Chapter 4 BAT

(3). Alice Wright Footprints Through the Snow Ch 1 Watson's Moustache

(4). MadameGiry25 God Rest Ye All Sherlockians Chapter 4 Watson's Secret Talent

(5). Sparky Dorian Sensible Festivities Ch 2

(6). cjnwriter A Sherlockian Christmas Dec 2 Holmes shops for Watson

(7). SheWhoScrawls O Come, O Come, Ye Scrooge of Baker St 7 Chocolate!

(8). wordwielder Christmas and Crooks Ch 4 Fruitcake

(9). Spockologist Holmes For The Holidays Ch 8 Tiger in Zoo

(10). embracetheweird Advent Calendar Ch 2 You want to bet

(11). Rockztar Sherlock Holmes Count Down to Next Year Ch 1

(12). I'm Nova December Calendar Ch 1


	15. Ch 15 - Lost

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: Mycroft mysteriously disappears. Sherlock and Watson try to find him.

From: The Inner Titan

Date: December 15th

A/N: On the abstract side, just to warn you.

* * *

_Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme._

* * *

It was heartrending. Could there be any greater tragedy? "How have the mighty fallen (1)." To the tender of spirit, it was akin to viewing the majestic HMS Birkenhead in 1845 slowly drown bit by bit, disappearing beneath the tumultuous ocean waves while watching helplessly from the shore, separated by an eternity of water.

Watson's clear sincere eyes full of mercy, moistened in empathy and he surreptitiously sniffled into his handkerchief feigning an itch of the nose.

Holmes sat upon his favorite chair, knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs with hands so tightly clasped that his naturally pale arachnidian hands were ghostly white. . His head was bowed low and a vacant distant sadness overshadowed him. He rocked back and forth, rhythmically; oblivious to the danger as each oscillation brought his perch nearer to toppling over. The great consulting detective cloaked himself in a dark, impenetrable blanket of an unfathomable conflicted cesspool, swirling thoughts spinning down into uncharted depths of melancholy.

Many years of sharing life with the mercurial detective made Watson only too well acquainted with his changing moods. In spite of this, he failed to grasp the full spectrum of emotions that were filling and consuming his partner, drowning him in an overwhelming flood of fear and confusion.

Holmes had never faced such an incomprehensible puzzle. His experience in the case of the Devil's foot could not compare to the fear that consumed him now. The hopelessness he felt upon learning of his client's murder in the case of the Five Orange Pips was nothing to his current state of despair. The horrors he'd seen during the grotesque events that unfolded in the case of Wisteria Lodge were a simple childish nightmare in comparison. He shivered. It was not from cold.

The adversary Holmes now encountered was an opponent so complicated, so unbeatable, so relentless, and unyielding that his brain, of which he was rather proud, could not comprehend. It was an enigma that taunted his superior intellect despite years of training and study. He was used to utilizing his logical reasoning machine to elucidate a tidy and trim solution. Now he faced an obstacle, a wall, which was too high to climb over, too thick to penetrate, too tough to break. It was utterly disturbing.

_The most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world had ever seen; who never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer_, found himself saturated and floating in a sea of sentiment (SCAN). A foe greater and more cunning than Moriarty stared him in the face. An enemy, more devious and heartless than Culverton, mocked his weaknesses. A rival more dangerous than Moran with an air gun waited in ambush just behind the corner. His helplessness disturbed him. He disliked the feeling exceedingly. A claustrophobic atmosphere enveloped him and tainted his every conscious moment.

At last, the somber man raised his head and peered over his knees at his friend, Watson. Grey eyes with an infinite capacity for sorrow met the steady, unflinching and empathetic eyes of his closest companion. "Watson," his voice was barely a perceptible hoarse whisper. "He was - " he struggled to find the words, "he was so - so different."

His friend nodded silently.

Holmes shook his head. " I can only imagine that he has entered a reality detached from our own. One in which I cannot follow - never will be able to enter. A labyrinth with no escape."

Wiping his eyes on his shirt cuff and sniffling discretely, he took a deep shuttering breath. "How can I bear to watch such a great mind, perhaps the greatest reasoner that ever lived, fall slowly and steadily to unknown depths of forgetfulness? I'm not that strong. I'm not so courageous as your readers might assume from your memoirs." He looked regretfully at his Boswell.

"He still remembers you." Watson gave his full attention to his friend's distress.

"I know but - " he paused with a pained expression, "he cannot even recall the events of yesterday, not even the name of the current Prime Minister. Soon he'll not remember the route from the Diogene's Club to his home." He could not stop the wail of desperation, "I've lost my brother, Watson."

There was nothing the doctor could say. He rose and rested a comforting hand on the thin, bent shoulders of the brilliant intellect. He stood by silently, his presence soothing, yet incapable of preventing the fragile heart of the great genius from shattering into a million tiny pieces of sorrowing anguish.

~o~

Some days later the three of them sat round the table together in the Stranger's room at the Diogene's Club sharing tea. Mycroft poured the tea and chatted pleasantly about the subtle differences in the scones from the various local bakeries. His monstrous body was still large but the skin hung a bit looser and his steel grey eyes, though sharp and steady as ever, lacked a certain gleam that bespoke of a multitude of national secrets stored away in his neat, pigeon-holed filing system of a brain. Holmes was stiff and unusually silent as he accepted the steaming beverage.

Watson shifted uncomfortably in the unbalanced atmosphere. Mycroft switched topics and jumped into a lecture on the various Chinese dynasties and their distinctive porcelain china. The younger Holmes maintained an impassive façade, emotionless and unreadable. He stayed aloof from the conversation.

Despite his twenty-four hour crash course in Chinese pottery for the case of the Illustrious Client, Watson quickly exhausted his store of knowledge on the subject. Seeking a diversion, he addressed the amiable Mycroft. "Tell me about a time when you and your brother were children." He gave a wry smile and indicated the younger Holmes. "You know how stubborn he can be about sharing these type of things."

Holmes shifted sharply in his chair.

The older brother relaxed. Taking a bite from his scone with obvious pleasure, he made no attempt to hide a wink and a smile. "You know, Watson, this brother of mine was not always the angelic, respectable member of society that you've known." He chuckled and nodded in the direction of his sibling. "Remember the time we caught a snake and thought it needed to rest in nana's bed?"

The younger brother gave a tiny smile at the mutually shared memory.

~o~

The afternoon passed quickly. Watson laughed until tears flowed from his eyes as he listened to stories about the antics of two little geniuses that were a bit too smart for their own good, concocting many a harebrained idea with equally hilarious results.

~o~

That evening after dinner back at 221B Baker Street, Holmes lounged on the sofa, pipe dangling from his mouth and paper in hand. Watson too had retired to sit near the fire. "Watson," Holmes spoke up.

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Confused the other man replied, "You're welcome, but whatever for?"

"For helping me find my brother again."

~o~

(1). 2 Samuel 1:27

A/N: People with dementia often suffer from the ability to form new memories (short-term memory loss) but their remote memories remain sharp and intact.

* * *

_"A moment later the tall and portly form of Mycroft Holmes was ushered into the room. Heavily built and massive, there was a suggestion of uncouth physical inertia in the figure, but above this unwieldy frame there was perched a head so masterful in its brow, so alert in its steel-gray, deep-set eyes, so firm in its lips, and so subtle in its play of expression, that after the first glance one forgot the gross body and remembered only the dominant mind." _ACD, BRUC


	16. Ch 16 - Gingerbread Memories

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: Gingerbread

From: Alice Wright

Date: December 16th

A/N: A bit of sickly sweetness and minimal mention of gingerbread.

* * *

Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme.

* * *

Holmes and Watson were decorating the gingerbread house that Mrs Hudson had skillfully baked and cemented together with special icing. She had left the finishing touches for the two flatmates to finish while she did some last minute Christmas shopping.

Watson held up a Hershey's Kiss and gazed at it thoughtfully for a few moments before scooping up a dollop of icing and fixating it along the roofline of the gingerbread. "These chocolates always remind me of Mary, Holmes. They were her favorite." He smiled in remembrance. 'A few extra kisses never hurt anyone,' she used to say.

Holmes grunted in reply, his concentration directed toward figuring out how to get his candy cane to remain upright in the front yard of their creation.

"Do any of these candies have a special significance to you?"

After a pause during which Watson wondered if Holmes had turned off his auditory receptors, Holmes finally replied, "They remind me of past cases."

Watson raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Really?"

"Yes, really, my dear Watson." Holmes answered with humoured glance in his friend's direction.

"Pray, do tell." Watson was intrigued by this revelation.

"Well, it might take a while," Holmes hinted, "I may not be able to work as efficiently if I tell you the details…"

"Oh, never mind," Watson's curiosity took precedence. "I'll decorate; you talk."

Smiling with impish glee, the detective hopped up to sit on the kitchen counter and began to regale his partner with sweet glimpses into past mysteries.

Holmes' Candy Castle

1. The Gloria Scott: LifeSaver - The man was saved from the sinking ship though later he wasn't so lucky.

2. The Musgrave Ritual: SweeTart - In the end she turned out to be more tart than sweet.

3. A Study in Scarlet: Red Vines - A twisted thread of murder runs through it.

4. The Speckled Band: Pop Rocks - Not a very nice stepfather, liable to explode at any moment.

5. The Resident Patient: Zero - The amount of money the resident patient took with him when he departed.

6. The Noble Bachelor: Dum Dum Pop - The nobleman was not the brightest of the lot.

7. The Second Stain: M&Ms - Two layers, colour and brown.

8. The Reigate Squires: Jolly Rancher - Colonel Hayter was a jolly ol' man.

9. A Scandal in Bohemia: Smarties - Two great brains go head to head in a battle of wit and disguise.

10. The Man with the Twisted Lip: Gummi Bear - The husband gummed on a very convincing face.

11. The Five Orange Pips: Orange Slices - The seeds are not the best omen to receive in the mail.

12. A Case of Identity: Airhead - Although she was an airhead, one does feel a bit sorry for her.

13. The Red-Headed League: Cotton Candy - An outlandish mop of fluffy red hair!

14. The Dying Detective: Jellybeans - Shiny exteriors, on eyes or candy, do not always reflect the reality.

15. The Blue Carbuncle: Ice Blue Mints - Blue & beautiful. Cold and hard as ice.

16. The Valley of Fear: Red Hot - The branding iron was certainly red hot.

17. The Yellow Face: Peeps - Cute and yellow.

18. The Greek Interpreter: Tic Tac - Tick tock, the clock's against us in this mystery.

19. The Sign of Four: Starburst - When Watson found his star.

20. The Hound of the Baskervilles: Watchamacallit - What is that phosphorescent beast chasing after us?

21. The Copper Beeches: Toffee - She had hair the colour of caramel toffee and was just as sweet.

22. The Boscombe Valley Mystery: Black Licorice - A dark strand wraps this story.

23. The Stockbroker's Clerk: Whopper - The clerk swallowed a whopper of a tale.

24. The Naval Treaty: Mr Goodbar - He was a good man with good intentions but shouldn't have left the document unguarded.

25. The Cardboard Box: Milk Duds - The man was a real dud.

26. The Engineer's Thumb: Butterfinger - Lucky for the man that he was missing just one finger.

27. The Crooked Man: Gummi Worm - The husband was a cowardly, squishy worm.

28. Wisteria Lodge: Toblerone: - Foreign, dark, and dangerous.

29. Silver Blaze: White Chocolate - Like Silverblaze, it's ever so valuable!

30. The Beryl Coronet: Pecan Pralines - Precious to behold!

31. The Final Problem: Swiss Fish - Watson thought the two archenemies were swimming with them at the end of this tale.

32. The Empty House: Candy Cane - Moran's cane was more than a cane.

33. The Golden Pince-Nez: Kinder Egg - Secrets lie inside.

34. The Three Students: Three Musketeers - Which of the three committed the crime?

35. The Solitary Cyclist: Bit-O-Honey - She was a bit of sweetness in the lives of several men.

36. Black Peter: Jawbreaker - Not a man to be crossed.

37. The Norwood Builder: Baklava - There are flakey layers of mystery to this case.

38. The Bruce-Partington Plans: Bubblegum - Mycroft chewed on this case but still needed his younger brother to make it stick.

39. The Veiled Lodger: Circus Peanuts - She worked in a circus.

40. The Sussex Vampire: Sour Patch Kids - The youth had a bitter streak.

41. The Missing Three-Quarter: Cow Tales - Follow this story down the pastoral cow paths to the answer.

42. The Abbey Grange: Butterscotch - Not the scotch but the wine that solved this riddle.

43. The Devil's Foot: Pixy Stix - A little powder goes a long, long way.

44. The Dancing Men: Skittles - Those little stick figures danced and skittled across the page.

45. The Retired Colourman: NutRageous - He was nuts to think he could outsmart the great detective.

46. Charles Augustus Milverton: Pez - His safe was a repository for juicy gossip.

47. The Six Napoleons: Cadberry Creme Egg - The outside may not reflect what's on the inside.

48. Thor Bridge: Atomic Fireball: A woman scorned has quite a temper.

49. The Priory School: PayDay - Did I mention a large paycheck at the end?

50. Shoscombe Old Place: Peppermint Pattie - The old lady smelled of peppermint and liniment.

51. The Three Garridebs: Conversation Hearts - The bullet revealed what was written on Holmes' heart.

52. The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax: Boston Baked Beans - Beware of certain foreigners from the Colonies.

53. The Illustrious Client: Sugar Daddy - Or perhaps I should say 'sugar mummy'?

54. The Red Circle: DOTS - Need I say more?

56. The Three Gables: Black Jack - "Were you born so?" he asked. "Or did it come by degrees?"

57. The Mazarin Stone: Snickers - Holmes' had a good snicker at the end of this case.

58. The Creeping Man: Nerd - A professor who wanted to be more than a nerd.

55. The Blanched Soldier: Marshmallow - He was white as a ghostly marshmallow.

59. The Lion's Mane: Truffles - A ruffled lion's mane was the key to this murder.

60. His Last Bow: Candy Corn - The seeds of change have been sown.


	17. Ch 17 - Desire

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: Mary has a weakness for a certain, difficult to find chocolate. Holmes finds the supply that Watson has been saving for her and Holmes wants chocolate.

From: MadameGiry26

Date: December 17th

A/N: Warning: Potentially triggering content.

* * *

D_isclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme._

* * *

He could not stop the insistent barrage of longing ravaging his conscious moments. It interfered with his business, his repose, in fact, if he was honest, with everything. "Go away," he'd said to the craving but the thought, like a moth round the lamplight, refused to flutter into oblivion. At every upstroke of his sigmoidal brainwaves the desire begged and pleaded. It jabbed painfully in his memory without remorse or relief. The poor consulting detective was being driven to the brink of a mental meltdown by the unassuming seeds from _Theobroma cacao _and their chemical alkaloids, theobromine and phenethylamine.

Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate…The words flowed through his unconsciousness in an undulating musical arrangement of notes that rose and fell in rhythmic and incessant harmonious streams. Rich, dark, smooth images collided with succulent, alluring odours and sweetly divine, exquisite tastes, melding into something so vivid and tangible that Holmes could scarce maintain his impassive mask of nonchalance.

Cho- CO - late. The word stirred up primitive instinctive passions stemming from deep within his limbic system. He closed his eyes and imagined the first delectable chocolate-ly treat melting in his mouth sending lighting-spark signals straight to his amygdala and ventral tegmental area then jetting off to his nucleus accumbens and ventral medial prefrontal cortex under a stunning and colourful explosive display of fireworks composed of seratonin and dopamine neurotransmitters.

Chocolate. He breathed in the intoxicating images of his daydreams. Watson looked at him rather strangely. "Holmes? Are you certain that you're feeling well?" He looked quizzically at his murmuring companion that stared into the distance with a vacant expression on his face and a trace smile upon his lips.

Holmes eyelids fluttered open. "Perfectly, my dear Watson."

~o~

* * *

_"I am very busy just now, and I desire no distractions," my friend answered. "I should much prefer that you called in the aid of the police."_ ACD, 3STU

~o~

A/N: Can you tell I like chocolate? :-)


	18. Ch 18 - Mycroft's Gift

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD**.

Prompt: Mycroft shops for a gift for his brother.

From: ImaLateBloomer

Date: December 18th

A/N: A Mycroft-centric fic

* * *

Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme.

* * *

"He has the tidiest and most orderly brain, with the greatest capacity for storing facts, of any man living…..In that great brain of his everything is pigeon-holed and can be handed out in an instant." ACD, BRUC

~o~

It was Christmas again. Mycroft considered the season to be an unnecessary period of frivolity and festivity but he tolerated it in his placid manner as usual. He was not a man given to sentiment yet he felt some small token in honour in the spirit of Christmas would be proper. Sherlock Holmes was his little brother after all.

Mycroft lounged in his chair at the Diogene's club comfortably. He was not an individual given to strolling. At the thought of struggling against the masses of shoppers cramming through the department stores he grimaced involuntarily. Instead, he closed his eyes and mentally perused his memories for an appropriate gift. Out of his great brain, a storehouse of information neatly pigeon-holed and available at a moment's notice, he traveled. He scanned his inner files and looked for the perfect Christmas present.

A new pipe. _No, Holmes had plenty and, like himself, was a man given to certain habits of comfort. His brother would not appreciate an intruder to his collection_.

A book. _No. He placed the file back in its cubbyhole. Books were difficult to choose. Too many options and variabilities to be considered._

An honorary knighthood? _He shook his head. Holmes had already refused it once_.

A bouquet of flowers. _No. He wasn't sure why he'd even brought this image out of his memory banks. Definitely too sentimental_.

A watch. _Hum. It was a possibliity. He thought about for a while handlig the file delicately in his mind's recessess._ Reluctantly he placed it back on the shelf. It just didn't fit his brother after all.

Mycroft was coming to the close of the shopping aisle in his brain. He sighed deeply. Geniuses were such difficult people to find a befitting gift.

Suddenly his reverie was interrupted by a silent messenger with a calling card for him. Reading the name on the card, he gave a nod and rose to meet the Prime Minister.

~o~

"Most unfortunate!" A pained expression crossed his face as the Minister explained the dire circumstances.

"Certainly, Sir, I shall personally ensure that everything possible will be done to recover the documents. Discretely, of course." He politely excused himself and returned to the sitting room where he ruminated on the facts of the matter for quite some time. He frowned as he realised he would require more details in order to satisfactorily wrap the matter up and restore the vital files.

Suddenly an idea formed itself in his mind. _That's it! Perfect. Two problems solved with one action. _Yes, it would be worth the tedious effort of personally visiting his brother at his home. He effortlessly sent off a telegram to announce his arrival while he tidied up his brain files.

~o~

It was the maid with a telegram. Holmes tore it open and burst out laughing.

"Well, well! What next?" said he. "Brother Mycroft is coming round."

"Why not?" Watson asked.

"Why not? It is as if you met a tram-car coming down a country lane. Mycroft has his rails and he runs on them. His Pall Mall lodgings, the Diogenes Club, Whitehall — that is his cycle. Once, and only once, he has been here. What upheaval can possibly have derailed him?"

"Does he not explain?"

Holmes handed Watson his brother's telegram.

_Must see you over Cadogan West. Coming at once_.

MYCROFT.

"Cadogan West? I have heard the name."

"It recalls nothing to my mind. But that Mycroft should break out in this erratic fashion! A planet might as well leave its orbit." ACD, BRUC

~o~

The tall and portly form of Mycroft Holmes was ushered into the sitting room at 221B Baker Street. Taking a seat in the comfortable chair nearest the fire, he settled himself and looked up at his brother standing near the window. "I see you have received my telegram."

Holmes nodded.

"An intriguing little puzzle, a present, to honour the spirit of Christmas this year." He smiled. He'd found the perfect gift for his brother at last.


	19. Ch 19 - Holmes Sings

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: Watson finds out that Holmes can sing (no slash).

From: Alice Wright

Date: December 19th

A/N: Couldn't help myself. A singing detective… The end quote really has nothing to do with this piece but I find it too funny not to share :-)

* * *

Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme.

* * *

Watson returned from an afternoon of Christmas shopping to find his friend, Holmes, in what could almost be described as a chipper mood. The detective pranced around the room with anticipation infused into every fiber of his being, eyes glittering with excitement.

"A successful experiment, then?"

"Ah, I see the powers of deduction have not been lost on you today!" Holmes gave an approving nod in Watson's direction. "I am on the verge of a great discovery. If this proves successful, as I suspect it will, another invaluable weapon shall be added to my arsenal against crime." He returned to his test tubes and chemicals with a lingering twinkle in his eye.

Some time later, as Watson was resting in his chair and enjoying the chance to catch up on the daily news in the paper, he heard a strange sound. Curiosity piqued, he turned toward Holmes' chemical laboratory. Apparently oblivious to the world around him, the detective was actually singing! Watson gave a little startle in surprise. He had no idea the man could sing. His voice was actually quite melodic, a deep baritone, smooth and rich.

It was a familiar Christmas carol that the detective was singing. However, as Watson listened closer he suddenly realized the words were rather unusual. He smiled and chuckled to himself. _Holmes! Leave it up to the world's one and only consulting detective to make up his own lyrics. _

~o~

Cases we have heard today

Stories bearing mystery,

When you Yarders can't allay

Bring to me the history.

Gloria, in excelsis Deo!

Gloria, in excelsis Deo!

~o~

Lestrade, why such misery?

Why did lady open drawer?

What means hair most coppery

Which brings tutor to my door?

Gloria, in excelsis Deo!

Gloria, in excelsis Deo!

~o~

Come to Boscombe town and see

A death and a son falsely blamed;

Come, and see on bended knee,

Clues that prove the boy was framed

Gloria, in excelsis Deo!

Gloria, in excelsis Deo!

~o~

See him with a speckled band,

Now she hears that whistle shrill;

Watson, comrade, lend your hand,

On the trail I feel the thrill

Gloria, in excelsis Deo!

Gloria, in excelsis Deo!

~o~

* * *

_This case is quite sufficiently complicated to start with without the further difficulty of false information."_

_"Meaning that I lie."_

_"Well, I was trying to express it as delicately as I could, but if you insist upon the word I will not contradict you._" ACD, THOR


	20. Ch 20 - The Gap

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: Suppose Watson visited Holmes's old rooms during his three years "dead".

From: Hades Lord of the Dead

Date: December 20th

A/N: A gap explained. If you need further explanation read, The Empty House.

* * *

Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme.

* * *

It had been almost a year since that fateful day at Reichenbach Falls and yet the day was etched so sharply in Watson's mind that he still remembered the details as if they were yesterday. A shadow crossed his face and his eyes took on that peculiar distant vacant hue as he revisited scenes from the last day he spent with his dear departed friend, Sherlock Holmes.

At last, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs of tangled silver threads in his mind, he unlatched the door and entered the familiar hallway of 221B Baker Street. He had not been back since the death of Holmes. Though time had dulled the sharpness of the pain, his heart still ached for that familiar keen, alert face showing a tightening of the lips, a quiver of the nostrils, and concentration of tufted brows that showed some novel and suggestive circumstances had stimulated his intellect.

Stepping into the sitting room, he noticed that Mycroft had preserved it as if the great detective had never left. The jack-knife thrust into the wooden mantelpiece, tobacco stuffed in the Persian slipper, cigars filling the coal-scuttle, even the bullet holes adorning the wall opposite his favorite armchair, were all as he remembered. Waves of nostalgia washed over Watson and he felt his head begin to spin. He rapidly seated himself in his old chair before he fell.

Shadows lengthened and shapes began to appear. Ghostly forms that played a dangerous game chasing down criminals, dodging bullets, and stalking ruthless gangs of evildoers. Other dim outlines echoed with undulating melodies from a violin serenading two men sitting by the crackling fire. Strange warm tendrils reached out and warmed Watson with their touch as he watched the scenes enacted out before him. Abruptly, behind him, a familiar voice with a suppressed eagerness wafted with earnest plea. "Come, Watson, come! The game is afoot."

The doctor wiped the tears that unbidden, had nonetheless welled up and overflowed in twin trickles down his face. Taking a deep breath, he gave a sad smiled and at last rose with resolute bravery to return to his place on Kensington. Taking one last longing look round the well-known room, his eyes landed upon an untidy gap on the second shelf of the book cabinet. He made a mental note to bring over a few of his extra volumes that he had sitting around in his study. Perhaps that five-volume set on British Birds…

~o~

".._.You'll find my little bookshop at the corner of Church Street, and very happy to see you, I am sure. Maybe you collect yourself, sir. Here's British Birds, and Catullus, and The Holy War — a bargain, every one of them. With five volumes you could just fill that gap on that second shelf. It looks untidy, does it not, sir?"_

_I moved my head to look at the cabinet behind me. When I turned again, Sherlock Holmes was standing smiling at me across my study table._ ACD, EMPT


	21. Ch 21 - Rug - Be

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: Rugby

From: Wordwielder

Date: December 21st

A/N: I know practically nothing about rugby therefore, taking much literary liberties, I have turned this into a piece about a rug. Further explanation of the mystery can be found in ACD's canon story, The Adventure of the Second Stain.

* * *

Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme

* * *

**Rug - Be**

If all the threads were one thread,

What a great thread that would be!

If all the spreads were one spread,

What a great spread that would be!

~o~

If all the cases were one case,

What a great case that would be!

If all the stains were one stain,

What a great stain that would be!

~o~

And if the great stain was the great case,

And bled 'cross the great spread,

And hid secret under the great thread,

What a great rug - that rug would be!

_~o~_

_The odds are enormous against its being coincidence. No figures could express them. No, my dear Watson, the two events are connected — must be connected. It is for us to find the connection._" ACD, SECO

~o~

_A/N: The above poem is based on the traditional nursery rhyme "If All the Seas were One Sea"_

If all the seas were one sea,

What a great sea that would be!

If all the trees were one tree,

What a great tree that would be!

~o~

If all the axes were one axe,

What a great axe that would be!

If all the men were one man,

What a great man he would be!

~o~

And if the great man took the great axe,

And cut down the great tree,

And let it fall into the great sea,

What a great splash-splash that would be!


	22. Ch 22 - Fiddle Riddle

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: Watson sells Holmes's violin to a man in exchange for a Christmas present for him... Holmes won't be too thrilled...

From: The Inner Titan

Date: December 22

A/N: Based on a very common riddle. If you can't find the answer and still want it, send me a review.

* * *

Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme

* * *

Watson was growing desperate. He had not slept in days. Normally he would not have resorted to such desperate measures but, well, a sleep-deprived frontal lobe has meagre reserves of inhibition. Could one really blame the poor man?

Holmes had been screeching away on his violin inharmoniously since Monday. He was bored. Moriarty had gone to visit his relatives in the country and was busy figuring out how to escape entanglement from an endless circus of high-strung energetic Moriarty nieces and nephews (1). The criminal classes were uninspired leaving the detective alternating between sofa and table, books and violin.

"Watson, where's my violin?" Holmes' voice had the high-pitch calliper of that of a whining child.

"Haven't seen it," Watson kept his face hidden behind the paper he was reading.

"Watson," Holmes sighed, "I can see that you know more about my missing violin than you are admitting. The only logical conclusion therefore being that you have played a part in its disappearance."

Watson made a small grimace. He should have guessed he couldn't keep a secret from his astute colleague. "Fine, then." He tossed his paper aside and folded his hands as he assumed a determined expression. "I sold it."

"You what?" The detective could not believe his best friend would have stooped to such spiteful revenge.

"I sold it to a man in exchange for a riddle, my dear Holmes." The exhausted Boswell gave a tired smile at his friend's surprise. The only hope you have of regaining your instrument of torture is to solve the riddle."

"But Watson, that is utter twaddle!"

"Tut, tut," the longsuffering man clucked. "It doesn't take a genius to see that you are bored out of your mind." He shook his head good-naturedly. " I suspect that you will take this case. Shall we call it, 'the case of the missing violin?'"

Holmes groaned and coiled up in his chair, folding his arms across his chest and closing his eyes in a childish pout. Within the hour though, Watson's sage prediction came true. "Fine, perhaps I will humour an old man," the sulking detective grumbled, "just this once though."

Watson suppressed a grin and nodded soberly at his friend. "Shall I give you the riddle then?"

"If you wish."

"The answer to this riddle is three separate numbers between zero to ten. Figure out which three numbers and you will know where your Stradivarius peacefully reposes."

"Continue," Holmes' ego figured it couldn't be difficult to deduce three tiny numbers.

"The three numbers add up to thirteen. The product of the three equals the number of Inspector Lestrade's home address -"

"Thank you, that will do," Holmes interrupted Watson's riddle.

Watson abruptly paused then opened his mouth to protest. Seeing Holmes look though, he stopped and shrugged his shoulders with an enigmatic smile.

Several hours later the flat's atmosphere was rather the worse for a thick haze of smoke.

"Solved it yet?" Watson teased. "You sure you don't want the rest of the clue?"

Holmes grunted. "Perhaps you have neglected one or two details that are essential to the riddle," he admitted.

"The largest number does not relate to that recent case about the Napoleon plaster busts."

The consulting detective considered this new bit of information for some time. Hands steepled together and chin bowed in deep introspection. "Watson! Why, I never…" He gazed at his flatmate with a mixture of shock and admiration. _"I am bound to say that in all the accounts which you have been so good as to give of my own small achievements you have habitually underrated your own abilities _(HOUN)."

Watson just smiled a secret smile to himself. _Mission accomplished. Ennui aborted for a few fateful hours._ He knew he'd sleep better tonight.

~o~

(1). I'm Nova. December Calendar. Chapter 23.


	23. Ch 23 - Out of Sight

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: Out of sight, out of mind

From: embracetheweird

Date: December 23

A/N: Recommend reading the full story of The Adventure of Shoscombe Old Place. Based on "Pop, Goes the Weasel".

* * *

Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme

* * *

The common criminal prescribes to the popular notion, out of sight out of mind. In so doing, the criminal makes a grave mistake and is liable to be caught by the singular detective faculties of my friend, Sherlock Holmes. Consider the Adventure of Shoscombe Old Place:

~o~

All around the carriage door

The spaniel smelled the liar.

The spaniel knew it all was wrong,

Shoo, said the liar.

~o~

Round and round the creepy crypt

Deception plagued the liar

Holmes was smart, her body found

Out, with the liar!

~o~

_First of all, Mr. Holmes, I think that my employer, Sir Robert, has gone mad."_

_Holmes raised his eyebrows. "This is Baker Street, not Harley Street," said he_. ACD, SHOS


	24. Ch 24 - Pistol Practice

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: Indoor pistol practice

From: cjnwriter

Date: December 24th

A/N: Utter nonsense! Stems from the theory that Holmes' bullet practice would have utterly destroyed the plaster walls of Victorian times and never allowed for a neat, patriotic V.R. as Watson claims.

* * *

Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme

* * *

_"I have always held, too, that pistol practice should be distinctly an open-air pastime; and when Holmes, in one of his queer humours, would sit in an armchair with his hair-trigger and a hundred Boxer cartridges and proceed to adorn the opposite wall with a patriotic V. R. done in bullet-pocks, I felt strongly that neither the atmosphere nor the appearance of our room was improved by it._" ACD, MUSG

~o~

That was the official published version of the story behind that fateful afternoon on a dreary, cold and rainy day at 221B Baker Street...

Holmes had been without a case for several days. He was past bored. The sheer boredom had finally caused his mind's racing engine to overheat and explode. A detective without his cool reasoning machine of logic becomes rather dangerous. He is liable to do anything.

Watson was at his writing desk, unaware of the silent detonation that had melted his flatmate's brain into putty.

"Watson," Holmes called from his resting position on the sofa, eyes closed disguising a mischievously evil gleam. "Care for a wager?"

Watson's pen dragged to a halt leaving a large smear that marked the sudden shock that struck the biographer. "A bet?" he stuttered. "But why?" his thoughts raced to try and catch up with Holmes' line of reasoning. He couldn't imagine why his friend would offer a wager. He was the one who seemed to have the weakness for betting at the races.

Perceiving his colleague's confusion, Holmes answered. "Not a normal, boring wager, Watson. I mean a unique personal bet between us." He sighed. "Anything is better than this stagnation I find myself decomposing within."

"But you know I could never best you in any game of logic, Holmes." Watson gave the extraordinary logician a knowing look.

"I am perfectly aware of such, my dear Watson." He gave his friend a sly grin. "I am proposing something much more along your line of skill. Target practice with our revolvers."

"In this weather?"

"We don't need to leave the house. We'll set up a few targets against the far wall. We can easily have everything cleaned and back in order by the time Mrs Hudson returns from the country next week."

The normally practical and responsible doctor somehow had a momentary lapse in judgment. Perhaps it was the lure of a wager. Perhaps it was the chance to best Holmes in something. Perhaps he was coming down with a touch of brain fever. Whatever the reason, Watson surprising agreed.

Bang! Holmes took aim and shot first. The bullet struck the opposite wall pinging wide of its intended target. Wallpaper and plaster chips in a plume of white dust sprouted from the wall.

Spending a bit more time to perfect his aim, Watson pulled the trigger on his revolver. Bang! The bullet came dangerously close to the target. He gave Holmes a look that said, '_I dare you'_.

Holmes crossed his eyes, squinted and shot again. More plaster and dust and splinters of wood went flying.

Watson returned the volley.

An exciting competition between dueling revolvers ensued. At last, the target on the wall was completely obliterated. In fact the entire wall was rather annihilated. The two men, covered in white dust, looked at each other. They burst out laughing at such a comical sight.

Many minutes of uncontrolled laughter, chortles, and stifled chuckles that burst out in helpless laughs once again ensured. Watson was the first to regain a semblance of control. He looked at the chaos before him. He shook his head and then collapsed into a fit of giggles again.

Several hours later, boredom successfully escaped, Holmes and Watson surveyed the scene of their crime. Mrs Hudson would not be happy.

"We have a few days before she comes back," Watson shrugged.

Holmes nodded.

Watson silently picked up the phone.

Holmes gave another nod.

"Operator, can you get me a carpenter?...Yes, it's urgent….Thank you." He hung up.

~o~

The repairman fixed the demolished wall as best he could. By the time Mrs Hudson returned a couple days later, only a linear, dimple in the wall remained.

"I think," said Watson, after the carpenter had left, "that this might merit inclusion in one of my narratives."

"I would not consider it a useful publication," Holmes replied dryly.

"Perhaps not," Watson answered with a grin, "But I do believe it might make a rather entertaining tale."

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, wouldn't I?" Watson replied with a smirk, "How much do you want to wager?"

Holmes groaned and slunk deeper into his capacious chair, closing his eyes at the memories.

"Of course, I may take a little literary license…" his Boswell teased.

~o~


	25. Ch 25 - Fan girl

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: Christmas greetings from crazy fangirl(s)

From: embracetheweird

Date: December 25

A/N: More nonsense!

* * *

Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme

* * *

A pink envelope piqued my olfactory senses as I noted the strange flavour of roses wafting from the direction of Holmes' customary jack knife that transfixed his correspondences to the wooden mantelpiece and kept them from tearing away in horror when he applied his violin melodies upon them. Walking over and examining the letter a bit closer, I noticed it was still unopened. Releasing it from its stabbing restraint, I showed it to Holmes. "You haven't even opened this letter?"

"Boring," he replied with an indolent dismissal.

"But how can you know for certain? Perhaps it represents a new case? You have been languishing for another criminal investigation these past few days." I handed him the envelope with more than a suggestion to open it.

Holmes sighed and grasped the aromatic letter. "Really, Watson, how can any case be interesting that comes from a boarding school girl, Spanish ancestry, and no more than sixteen. Just look at the shape of her 's's and 'm's. Since she obviously does well in her academic studies, it can only mean another plea for help in one of the common, desperate romantic fiascos that girls of her age seem to find themselves embroiled within far too often."

Ignoring his whining, I replied, "Just open it."

"Oh, you can open it, if you are so keen to read such a frilly letter - women were always more your department anyway," Holmes sighed.

Curious, I sliced open the envelope and read the following narrative out loud:

_Dear Mr Holmes,_

_I have decided to write to you and let you know that I am your greatest fan (sorry, Watson). I am a friend of Inspector Lestrade and his recent poetic prose to Kipling and resulting reply have inspired me to write to my own hero, you! (1). Although this letter may not be as filled with rhyme, I hope that it conveys the same sentiment. I'd even be so bold as to name my firstborn after you but I have only a dog. I have named him Toby. He is a sincere canine, though not so bright. _

_I eagerly look forward to your reply. If you could be so kind, I would be forever grateful for a signed photograph. And, Watson, if you wouldn't mind, perhaps a signed publication or two of your stories in the Strand?_

_With all my heart I wish you a very Merry Christmas! _

_Forever yours,_

_Fan Girl_

_P.S. Toby greets you and sends his sincerest woo-woo for a Happy New Year!_

Holmes picked up the letter, which I had just read to him. He gave a small smile. "A woman's heart and mind are insoluble puzzles to the male (ILLU)… Their most trivial action may mean volumes, or their most extraordinary conduct may depend upon a hairpin or a curling tongs. Good morning, Watson (SECO)."

~o~

(1). mrspencil. Felons and Festive Fripperies. Chapter 9. Fan Male.


	26. Ch 26 - Boxer Day

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: Lestrade gets a Boxing Day present from Baker Street.

From: Aleine Skyfire

Date: December 26

A/N: Loose inspiration from the song, "I Saw Three Ships Come Sailing In".

* * *

Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme

* * *

I saw the gift come mailing in,

On Boxing day, on Boxing day,

I saw the gift come mailing in,

On Boxing day in the morning.

~o~

And what is in that gift I see?

On Boxing day, on Boxing day,

And what is in that gift I see?

On Boxing day in the morning.

~o~

Heart boxer shorts and card were there

On Boxing day, on Boxing day,

Heart boxer shorts and card were there

On Boxing day in the morning.

~o~

Pray whither flew this gift so wee?

On Boxing day, on Boxing day,

Pray whither flew this gift so wee?

On Boxing day in the morning.

~o~

Oh, it flew back to Baker Street,

On Boxing day, on Boxing day,

Oh, it flew back to Baker Street,

On Boxing day in the morning.

~o~

And Boxer dogs in London shall sing,

On Boxing day, on Boxing day,

And Boxer dogs in London shall sing,

On Boxing day in the morning.

~o~

And fine tall boxer in fight shall swing,

On Boxing day, on Boxing day,

And fine tall boxer in fight shall swing,

On Boxing day in the morning.

~o~

And all the men at Yard shall sing,

On Boxing day, on Boxing day,

And all the men at Yard shall sing,

On Boxing day in the morning.

~o~

Now Lestade is all pink, they say,

On Boxing day, on Boxing day,

And Holmes and Watson wink today,

This Boxing day in the morning.

~o~

_"Sherlock Holmes was a man who seldom took exercise for exercise's sake. Few men were capable of greater muscular effort, and he was undoubtedly one of the finest boxers of his weight that I have ever seen; but he looked upon aimless bodily exertion as a waste of energy, and he seldom bestirred himself save where there was some professional object to be served." _ACD, YELL


	27. Ch 27 - Breakfast

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: A very unusual breakfast

From: mrspencil

Date: December 27

A/N: Based on the old nursery rhyme, "Jack sprat could eat no fat". Holmes and Watson share a typical assortment of breakfast foods. Well, typical if you live in certain parts of the world outside of Britain. I can only recommend the spaghetti omelette. Sincerest apologies to mrspencil for ruining a perfectly good prompt with all the potential for madeleines, croissants, cannoli, eclairs, pain au chocolat, punschkrapfen,vol-au-vent, and macaroons.

* * *

_Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme_

* * *

Black cat, won't eat that

Nor things of koki bean,

So choose between the two of them

Puff puff or kanda lean.

~o~

Holmes, he ate the kanda lean,

And Watson the mole-rat.

The tail they left with the spleen,

And gave them to the cat.

~o~

Pack rat gives feeling

Of small stomach glitch.

Poor Watson churned over,

And in he did pitch.

~o~

Says Holmes, "Some fish pie?"

But green friend did reply,

"Even omelette dry

With spaghetti, I shan't try."

~o~

"_I think, Watson, that if we drive to Baker Street we shall just be in time for breakfast." _ACD, TWIS

* * *

a/n: cat, dog, kanda (cow skin), rat mole (big rat), fish pie (pastry with fish and vegetable inside), spaghetti omelettes, accra bean, and koki are all options for breakfast. There are the boulangeries with French pastries for the faint of heart :-D


	28. Ch 28 - Cheating

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: Either Holmes is very good at cards or someone is cheating

From: Alice Wright

Date: December 28

A/N: Apologies. Silly mystery rhyme. Brain is rather fried from holidays. Original nursery rhyme at the end.

* * *

_Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme_

* * *

Three figures playing cards and dice,

Upon a winter's eve;

It so fell out, that Holmes fell in,

The rest could only grieve.

~o~

Now, had these figures been at home,

Or playing other lot,

Ten thousand pounds to one penny

The thief might ne'er been caught.

~o~

Three figures playing cards and dice,

Upon a winter's eve;

The game was won, by only one,

He practiced to deceive.

~o~

Now, had these figures been alert,

To Holmes' slight of hand,

They might have seen the card or die

Flow under the new Strand.

~o~

Three figures playing cards and dice,

Upon a winter's eve;

And Holmes does prove, with subtle move;

How thief was not naïve.

~o~

Now gambling case is duly solved,

And cheat no more can roam,

But if you think to play with Holmes,

Pray keep your pounds at home.

~o~

_"It is a mercy that you are on the side of the force, and not against it, Mr. Holmes," remarked the inspector as he noted the clever way in which my friend had forced back the catch. ACD, GREE_

* * *

Three children sliding on the ice,

Upon a summer's day;

It so fell out, they all fell in,

The rest they ran away.

~o~

Now, had these children been at home,

Or sliding on dry ground,

Ten thousand pounds to one penny

They had not all been drowned.

~o~

You parents that have children dear,

And eke you that have none,

If you would have them safe abroad,

Pray keep them safe at home


	29. Ch 29 - A Dark Secret

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. **

Prompt: Suppose a certain beloved housekeeper harboured a dark secret…?

From: Hades Lord of the Dead

Date: December 29

A/N: Dedicated to Hades Lord of the Dead and her brother, Poseidon – God of the Seas. All the best to you both and speedy healing to Poseidon!

* * *

_Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme_

* * *

It was definitely a dark secret. Dark and dirty. It swirled with an ominous foreboding at the precipice of her consciousness in dim, shadowy wisps that whirled and rose dangerously close to disclosure. The mysterious murky monstrosity extruded singular eerie claws of fear that ripped at one's soul with jagged edges of terror, like the haunting howls of the legendary hound of the Baskervilles which raced across the moor upon its evil pursuits. Though hidden from human eyes, her secret was ever present, vigilant in its nefarious hideout, searching for a weak spot in her amour through which it could burst through and reveal itself - a menacing, malodorous, Mephibosheth, shamefully secreted away within the recesses of Mrs Hudson's mind.

Mrs Hudson was such a charming soul. Long-suffering. Always ready with a steaming pot of tea accompanied by scrumptious scones or biscuits. And despite Holmes' repeated efforts to the contrary, she tried to maintain a semblance of cleanliness within her tenant's flat. At least enough to keep the bugs at bay.

If Holmes had any inkling of his landlady's secret, he certainly did not divulge his suspicions. After all, Mrs Hudson had not always been a sweet and amiable landlady. She'd been married once. The demise of her long-deceased spouse was a tale for another day. Was it really surprising that a woman such as Mrs Hudson, who endured the atrocious visitors that Holmes and Watson attracted, should have a few cobwebs in her proverbial closet? She was rather unperturbed by the chronicles of violence and crime that Watson related to her. She was adept at handling even the vilest of creatures that found itself on the doorstep of 221B. It is really no wonder that the remarkable Mrs Hudson had one dark secret. Perhaps one should be more astounded if she has only one?

~o~

Watson bounded down the steps to Mrs Hudson's front door. "Mrs Hudson?" he called eagerly.

"Coming," the intrepid landlady answered as she plodded to the door and opened it wide to admit the doctor.

As he entered her living quarters, a black furry dash scurried between his legs and almost made it to the open door before he hastily scooped up the orphan kitten (1). "He certainly looks a bit more handsome now that he's dried out." Watson stroked the soft, tiny fur ball that was contentedly purring in his arms now.

Mrs Hudson looked at the kitten, black as night, which Watson had brought down to her last evening after Holmes had conceived a conniption over the prospect of keeping the bedraggled beast. She gave an approving nod at the pair. "How long should we keep this dark secret from Holmes?" she asked.

~o~

(1). Hades Lord of the Dead. Tales on a Cold Winter's Eve. Chapter 3. No Kitten Left Behind.


	30. Ch 30 - Birdhouse

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness. If you're interested, come join the writing party and PM Hades LotD.**

Prompt: Birdhouse!

From: SheWhoScrawls

Date: December 30

A/N: I'm not sure how this is going to work. It's an abstract idea that gnawed at my consciousness when I considered the lesser-known story of "The Yellow Face". I don't think I even mention Holmes or Watson in it. But they are there, on the periphery. Read the canon story to see them. The ending is worth the time to read it.

* * *

_Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme_

* * *

"Child!" her aunty hissed, "get away from the window."

She exhaled deeply, "Yes, aunty," her voice saturated with resignation.

Auntie's eyes filled with pity and sadness for the child. "Come here, my dear, why don't we work on your needlework? It's coming along quite nicely. You're almost finished."

The child settled down to her needlework. Her long delicate fingers poked the needle through the canvas, skillfully weaving a colourful tapestry of bright threads. As she sewed, she thoughtfully studied the pattern. Cheerful finches flitted across the cloth in and out of a gabled birdhouse framed by cherry blossoms. The letters read, _Love has a shape, but no colour (1)._

"Aunty, why can't I go outside and play? Why do you and mamma make me wear that silly white facemask and white gloves? I didn't have to in America."

Her kind aunty sighed. "Child, we've been over this before. You know you cannot go outside because other people might see you and these people could hurt you. They've never seen someone with skin like yours. Your mamma is afraid of what these people could do. They might take you away."

The child looked down and considered her smooth, milky-brown hued hands. She paused and looked back at her auntie's almost translucent pale white skin with knobby blue veins twisting beneath the surface.

"I don't see what's wrong with my skin," She pouted stubbornly.

"There's nothing wrong with your skin," her aunty explained patiently, "it's just that people are afraid of something new."

"But underneath we're all the same colour," the child persisted. "My palms are white like yours. My tongue is just as pink. My teeth are white." She emphasized her points with animated gestures. "See, even my blood is red like yours and momma's," she put down her needlework and stretched out her hand where a small welt of blood blossomed from her fingertip

"I know, I know." Her aunty quickly affirmed as she rose to find a bit of plaster to staunch the blood.

"It's not fair!" The child grimaced as her aunty swabbed her finger with spirits before applying the plaster.

Having bandaged the finger, her aunty swept the child up in her arms. She was small for her age. She had her father's eyes. Large and liquid-brown. Full of curiosity and wise beyond her years. Long curly eyelashes framed them. Her face was a perfect blend of father and mother. Her black curls complemented her dark skin tones, which glowed under the light from the sun. She hugged the little girl. "You are beautiful, my dear," she murmured into her ear. "One day people will realize that and you'll be free."

She held up the girl's needlepoint that vibrated with an array of every colour in the rainbow. "One day people will see that just like these colourful birds make up an even prettier picture together, you add even greater beauty to the world than any of these tiny finches."

The child nodded silently and traced the colourful threads of her artwork with her un-bandaged finger.

"See this birdhouse," her aunty pointed to the little brown birdhouse perched on a budding branch of cherry blossoms in the threaded pictured.

"Yes, aunty."

"See how there is one bluebird hiding inside the house and another brown and orange one singing on the roof? One day that bluebird will fly out and join his friend. I think they'll sing a very nice melody then, don't you think?"

"I think the bluebird will be very happy to fly out of his house and be free," she replied with a small smile.

"Yes, child, I think you are right." Her aunty whispered as she stroked the dark curls and gave a soft kiss to her forehead. "He will be very happy, indeed."

~o~

(1).Jarod Kintz, This is the best book I've ever written, and it still sucks

* * *

_"You can write me down an ass this time, Watson," said he. "This was not the bird that I was looking for."_ ACD, BRUC


	31. Ch 31 - New Year's Gifts

**Part of a Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness.**

From: embracetheweird

Date: December 31

A/N: My last prompt of the year and the December Challenge of Awesomeness reads: **gifts for the irregulars. ** Over the course of this month, you have all become my '_irregulars'_. A motley assortment of writer enthusiasts passionate about a fictional detective, Holmes, and his friend, Watson. Pretty irregular, huh? This composition is my gift to you all. Cheers to all the _Irregulars_ of this December Challenge!

* * *

_Disclaimer: Scribbled in haste. Mistakes most likely. Abstract literary license utilized to meet the challenges. Occasional rhyme_

* * *

Holmes and Watson lounged by the hearth, soaking up the warmth of the flames that flickered in the dim glow of the evening. Mrs Hudson entered and brought with her a tray bearing three glasses and a bottle of champagne, compliments of mrspencil, to toast in the New Year.

An unexpected, insistent knock on the door interrupted their celebration. "A client for you, Holmes?" Watson wondered.

"No, Watson," Holmes replied with a trace of a smile. " I rather fancy we have a whole host of visitors awaiting outside judging by the plethora of footsteps I hear."

Mrs Hudson opened the door.

"Happy New Year's Eve, Ma'am," Arthur said. He was the newest addition to the Irregulars. He tipped his cap in greeting. His assorted gang of friends followed his example. "We've come to help you welcome in the New Year!" they chorused.

Mrs Hudson glanced back at Holmes and Watson with a questioning look.

Holmes nodded in affirmation.

"Come on in, boys," she invited. "Shoes stay outside, coats on that table over there." She pointed to a low table in the corner. The young street urchins enthusiastically traipsed in and made themselves comfortable in the sitting room, perching on the chairs, the settee, and the soft rug by the fire.

As the crowd happily munched on Christmas cookies and sipped their hot cocoa, Arthur stepped up to Holmes. "Do you have any New Year's resolutions to make a toast to?" he inquired.

Holmes made a wry face at the thought of New Year's resolutions. "No, Arthur, I don't make such resolutions. I find them too easily forgotten. But, perhaps we can toast to the memories of our friends that have cheered and enriched our lives this past year?"

Arthur nodded. Watson pulled out a scrap of paper and pen. With much laughter, shouting, and merriment, a list of friends was finally composed.

Taking the note from Watson, Arthur stood between Holmes and Watson. He cleared his throat. The gang settled down to listen to this special toast. "A toast to all our friends," the small boy announced. Then, with his newly acquired reading skills, he began:

~o~

Rockztar wrote with wit and poise;

Of testing sugar-highs in boys.

~o~

Wordwielder found a severed head;

Poor Holmes was filled with awful dread.

~o~

CJN and Holmes went riding;

They returned on foot, a-striding.

~o~

I'm Nova found Holmes' rubber ducky;

Naming after Mycroft was plucky.

~o~

A BAT is loose for ImaLateBloomer;

The creature has a sense of humour.

~o~

MadameGiry and her breadbox gift;

Gave Mrs Hudson's day a lift.

~o~

SheWhoScrawls rang morning sleigh bells

Disrupting Watson's dreaming spells.

~o~

Lemon Zinger used an ear horn;

You said what? I could have sworn…

~o~

Watson's daughter and Alice Wright;

Found their day with Holmes a delight.

~o~

The detective and Mrs Pencil

Lit up a blazing Christmas tree.

~o~

Bubbles blown by Sparky Dorian,

Filled a flat that was Victorian.

~o~

Embracetheweird made a fruitcake;

Watson wants it with his tea break.

~o~

A skull decked out in Santa hat?

How could Spockologist do that!

~o~

Hades Lord of the Dead is back;

She has a soggy kitten, black.

~o~

Now Irregulars all proclaim,

'To Holmes and Watson and the game!'

~o~

* * *

In the words of the angels (who can compete with that?!), my own toast. "..._and on earth peace, good will toward men!_" Luke 2:14


End file.
